Road Trippin' with Lucifer
by Lustiel's Journal
Summary: What happened when Sam woke up from his Leviathan-induced concussion? This story aims to fill in the three weeks skipped in the show and explore both Sam's recovery and Dean's acceptance of his new reality. Lucifer stars in all sorts of cruelty. Protective!Dean, hurt/limp!Sam, with moments of bad-assery because they're still the Winchesters. Warnings inside. *CURRENTLY ON HIATUS*
1. Day 1

**Road Trippin' With Lucifer**

A/N: Set immediately after the hospital scene in "7.3 The Girl Next Door."

It always bothered me that the writers used the "three weeks later" device and skipped Sam's grounding to reality and healing. If it was still bad enough that Sam could space out with Dean directly addressing him, it must have been horrible when he woke up. This would have been excruciating for Sam and thus you know it was hard on Dean and Bobby. The show never really addresses Dean's guilt either. So, I have written this to fill in these three weeks (and possibly beyond, we'll see), trying to imagine what the process would have been like for Sam. I apologize it starts out a bit slow, but I am trying to be true to what I expect the physical healing process would be, not to mention the psychological recovery.

Warnings for language in most chapters. Torture, graphic and otherwise, in many chapters. Self-harm and mentions of suicide in some chapters. Dubcon and sexual violence in some chapters, though these will be indicated and will be written in a way that one could skip without missing any plot.

Excessive amounts of guilt, angst, hurt, comfort, schmoop, and occasional bad-assery.

Also my first fanfic, so sorry if I struggle with formatting and convention. Reviews, comments, advice, and requests very much welcome! Enjoy!

* * *

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* * *

 **Day 1**

Twelve hours. He'd been driving for more than twelve hours. Bobby blinked against the exhaustion threatening to consume him. In all reality, he had made excellent time. Sioux Falls to Whitefish normally took around sixteen hours. But Bobby didn't have that luxury. Dean was passed out next to him. As far as he could tell, Sam had not woken up. A broken leg Dean could handle, but they'd had to whisk Sam away before he'd gone for the MRI. The extent of his injuries was completely unknown. He'd done all he could to stabilize Sam per Dr. Boreseren's instructions. He sighed. _I can't believe the world is ending ...again... and we're smack in the middle of it… again_ , he thought bitterly. The bright blue of the generic hospital sign caught his eye and he maneuvered the ambulance towards the exit ramp. He just prayed Sam would be okay. He dialed a number on his phone as he elbowed Dean awake.

"Dr. Boreseren, it's Bobby Singer. We're just pulling up to North Valley now. Should we go to the ambulance bay? … Got it. … See you there."

Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up. "We here already?"

"Yeah. Dr. Boreseren will meet us to take Sam." Dean looked at Bobby with concern. Bobby knew what he was thinking. "Rufus and I took care of a poltergeist at her house a few years back, so she's familiar with what can happen on hunts." This satisfied Dean's anxiety as he turned to look at the still body of his brother. The shallow rise and fall of his chest told Dean at least Sam was alive.

A small army of nurses was waiting to receive them. As soon as they stopped moving, the back was a flurry of action and Sam was rushed off before either of them could unbuckle their seatbelts and get out. The subtly attractive doctor gave Bobby a nod and Dean a tense smile before turning to follow her nurses.

They were shown to a pleasant but still-too-sterile waiting room. Dean hobbled in on crutches, having refused the wheelchair. He collapsed into a loveseat and spread out his leg. Bobby sat such that he could watch both Dean and passing traffic. The older Winchester sighed and hung his head over the arm of the couch. They sat in tense silence for a few minutes until Bobby could no longer tolerate it. "Dean, you feel like telling me now or you still need your beauty sleep?" Dean had been too exhausted and drugged out to explain during the drive. "What the hell happened?"

"I thought I told you. There was a Leviathan at your place. We—"

"No, no, from the beginning. One minute I'm on the phone with Sam, next I come back, my place has been torched and you two are gone but the Impala is there. I thought the worst. Then I get a phone call that you're in the hospital! Missin' a few details in the middle there."

Dean gulped. He'd barely had time to process it himself. "Well, uh, I came back from checking out the swim team and Sam wasn't there. No note, nothing. I knew it couldn't be good. Thank God I put his damn GPS on. I tracked him to this abandoned warehouse. I walk in and he's staring at his gun, totally out of it. Then he points it at me. Clearly scared shitless. He said he thought he was with me. He kept looking to the side, like he was listening to someone. Said he couldn't remember driving there. He was going out of his damn mind. Then he shoots at nothing. Nothing was there." He stopped, the memory of the terror on Sam's face stealing his words away.

"Bobby, it was bad. Really bad. He didn't know what was real." Dean swallowed the anguish creeping up his throat. "He didn't say it, but I could tell Lucifer was there, taunting him. Tricking him. He kept looking away or looking over my shoulder. I could barely keep his attention on me." He dragged his hands down his face. "I grabbed his cut, pressed into it, told him that was real. He seemed to believe it. That's when you called. So we shagged ass back to your place only to find it burnt down. We started looking for you, that's when the Leviathan jumped us. Tried shooting it in the head. Fat lot of good that did. Thing tossed me into a car, broke my leg. Sam got a tire iron to the face. I dropped a car on it and called 911." Dean sped through the Leviathan encounter. It seemed like the least of their worries now.

"And Sam?"

"Uh, on the way back to your place he said he wasn't seeing anything. After the Leviathan, he was unconscious until they got him in the ambulance. He woke up for a little bit, then…" He paused, trying to gauge Bobby's reaction. The man had a perfect poker face. "He seemed to see something and then he had a seizure."

"A seizure?!" Bobby exclaimed, unable to maintain his composure.

"I don't know. They said he was seizing. The EMT gave him some valium." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what to do, Bobby. This is all my fault."

"How?" Bobby challenged.

"I insisted we put his soul back. This wouldn't have happened if we'd left it alone."

"Oh, and leave the real Sam to suffer for all of eternity?"

Dean nodded as he considered this. He had a point. "You're right... I just... God. I think he was gonna kill himself. The way he was looking at his gun. Lucifer was just revving him up to do it. I can't live the rest of my life like that. Talking Sam down from the ledge all the time. 'Cause one day I'm not gonna be there and Lucifer will get to him."

Bobby sighed. The same thought had crossed his mind. "We'll figure it out. If you could break him out of it once, maybe he can learn to do it on his own. Kid's survived a lot. He'll get through this, too."

"I don't know, Bobby. You shoulda seen the look on his face. He really didn't know. He didn't. He couldn't tell if I was real, standing right in front of him. Who knows what Lucifer has been saying? The damn devil is fucking with reality." Dean groaned but it came out as a growl. "I can't, I just can't."

Bobby opened his mouth to respond but found he had nothing to offer. They'd get Sam through this one way or another. After a painfully long spell of silence, Dr. Boreseren cleared her throat to announce her presence. Dean practically flung himself at the doctor in anticipation.

"How is he?!" he asked urgently.

"Well," she held Dean's eyes evenly. "He's suffered a rather severe concussion. He has some mild edema—fluid buildup—around the frontal lobe. We'll have to keep him for observation until the swelling subsides. As long as the pressure doesn't get too high, he should be okay."

"When will he wake up?"

She shrugged apologetically. "I'm not sure. Normally I would say a few hours to a few days, but…" She hesitated, looking between Bobby and Dean.

"What is it?" Bobby encouraged.

She inhaled. "His MRI shows levels of brain activity I've never seen before. Even unconscious, his cortical networks and limbic system are firing at an unusual rate, especially in areas that aren't normally so active."

"What does that mean? Which areas?" Dean asked, his concern increasing exponentially.

"I can't really tell you what it means without having a baseline image of his brain for comparison. Everyone's brain is different, maybe he just has a lot of basal activity. But," she laughed a little, "I can't believe it's _that_ high." She shook her head. "The brightest regions were by far the hippocampus and amygdala. Damn near maxed out the level of detection."

"What do they do?" Dean pressed, impatient.

"The hippocampus is involved in memory processing. The amygdala functions primarily for basic decision-making, parts of memory, and emotional reactions, especially fear and aggression, as well as the fight or flight response." Dean's stomach dropped. That had to be Lucifer. Her pager beeped. Glancing at it, she looked up at the two men. "Sorry, I gotta take this. I'll let you know if there's any change in Sam's condition."

"Can we see him?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Yes. He's in room 2612." They mumbled thanks as she turned and scurried down the hall.

Dean turned towards Bobby, panic painting his features as he grabbed his crutches. "What the hell are we gonna do? It's frying his brain, literally."

"You heard what she said, Dean. It could be he just has high basal levels of activity. He used to be a psychic. Hell, he could exorcise demons with his mind! He doesn't exactly have your average brain."

Dean gave him a stern look. "Don't be cute, Bobby. You know what she meant."

Bobby sighed. "What do you want me to do about it? Nothing we can do. Just gotta wait."

Dean stopped talking as he concentrated on moving. They ambled towards Sam's room as fast as Dean's leg would let them, which was far too slow for the young hunter. Bobby tried to help, earning him a string of expletives. He fell behind Dean, ready to catch him if he toppled over.

Rounding the corner of Sam's room, Dean's heart plummeted. Sam was hooked up to every kind of monitor possible. He supposed he should be thankful he wasn't on a ventilator. He dragged a chair to the bed and dropped himself into it. He grabbed Sam's hand and was disturbed by how cold it felt. He pulled the blankets over to cover every inch of Sam's tall body. Bobby let a sad smile conquer his face. Dean would always protect Sam, come Hell or high water. He smirked inwardly at the expression. _How bad could high water really be?_ he thought. Looking at Sam, he knew the answer. _Bad enough._

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby rose out of his bedside chair. "I'm gonna go get the cabin ready. With any luck, we'll have him home soon." Dean nodded absently, barely hearing anything but the shallow breaths of his little brother.

* * *

Nothingness. Despite the perception of being in an absolute vacuum, despite not having a physical form, Sam at least knew he existed. _The cage?_ he thought. He felt cold, but it was not the soul-permeating cold of the bare cage. So he was not in Hell. "Dean?" he called out to the emptiness, only to have the sound swallowed up by void. "Bobby?" No response. He opened his mouth a third time and hesitated only slightly as he asked "Lucifer?" Utter stillness answered him and he felt cripplingly alone, more so than he had ever felt in Hell. Lucifer rarely spared him long enough for him to feel alone. As he considered an eternity of this, panic started to set in. Being trapped in Hell with Lucifer was one thing, but stuck with himself with only his thoughts for company? That may be the cruelest torture yet. He tried to calm his mind with meditation. Perhaps if he could reach an altered state of consciousness, time would become irrelevant.

He began chanting an exorcism as it was something repetitive and simple. He repeated the words so many times they lost their meaning. Awareness slipped away as the chant became only a syllabic rhythm and the frenetic pace of his thoughts slowed. On cue, just as bliss was within reach, that all-too-familiar laugh blasted through his consciousness. His concentration shattered as his psyche crumpled in on itself. _No,_ he begged, _please, no, no, no…_ The laughter intensified and he felt icy tendrils of despair curl around his soul. His spirit collapsed and he scrambled to hide himself away in the darkest recesses of his mind.

"Sammy…" The velvet voice sent shivers through his soul. He burrowed further, memories cracking around his passage, willing to destroy anything to flee the impending terror. "Come out and play… you know you can't hide forever…"

* * *

Dean's light sleep was interrupted by something hitting him in the face. Groggily collecting his senses, the piercing alert of the heart monitor struck him first. Blinking his eyes open, he was greeted by Sam's trembling body, his hand the offending object smacking Dean. He grabbed it and was about to shout for a nurse when one bustled in and checked his vitals. "Sammy, it's gonna be okay. We'll get through this. It's okay. I got you."

"I'll be right back," she assured Dean and quickly left the room.

"Don't worry, man. She's gonna get the good stuff. And you'll be fine. You'll be okay." He continued murmuring nonspecific comfort. The frantic blaring of the heart rate monitor slowed and Sam's shaking ebbed. Dean stroked his brother's wounded palm and the trembling ceased completely. His heart rate crept back towards normal.

By the time the nurse returned, Sam was resting peacefully, an elevated heart rate the only indication anything had occurred. She looked at the syringe in her hand and frowned. "What happened?"

"It just stopped. I-" Dean hesitated, hating how this was going to sound. "I grabbed his hand and it seemed to help." Dean could feel a slight blush of shame rise in his cheeks.

The nurse either did not notice or did not comment if she did. Instead, she looked at Dean with enthusiasm. "That's good. Maybe he can hear and feel you even if he can't wake up. Keep doing that. It will help him. Don't hesitate to call for help if it happens again though." She smiled and left the brothers.

Dean turned back to Sam. "I can do that," he said to himself. Thankful Bobby wasn't there, he caressed Sam's face with such tenderness he almost felt his balls shrink. He resisted momentarily then let the emotion take hold of him. "God, Sam, I just got you back from Lucifer. Don't check out now. You don't get that fucking luxury," he said quietly, frustration edging his voice. He gripped Sam's hand tight and laughed to stop from crying. "You're a Winchester. You have to keep going, whether you want to or not!" Dean got up and closed the door. He gently shifted Sam's body over so he could squeeze himself onto the bed with Sam. He would not leave Sam's side, even if that meant literally. He nestled in next to Sam, ignoring the discomfort of lying on his side and the cast digging into him. "It'll be okay, Sammy. Big brother isn't gonna let anything bad happen to you. I got you," he whispered in a continuous loop until sleep overcame him.


	2. Day 2

**Day 2**

Dean woke late in the day and felt surprisingly well rested. He could hear Dr. Boreseren talking quietly to Bobby outside the room. He propped his body up on his elbow and surveyed Sam. He hadn't moved at all since last night. He was relieved to feel the warmth in Sam's hand. Dean wiggled his sore muscles before sliding out of bed.

Bobby entered the room and smiled at Dean. "Good thing you're up, princess. They're gonna take Sam for another scan and see what's going on with his brain. Though, maybe you should stay in there and we could do a two-for-one."

"Very funny, Bobby." He knew he should have a witty retort but he just didn't care. Sam was the only thing that mattered right now. "Anything change while I was asleep?"

Bobby shook his head. "Everything seems stable. They'll know more after the scan."

* * *

Dr. Boreseren knocked on the open door and Dean's and Bobby's heads snapped up. They'd been too anxious to talk but the silence was equally painful. "So, the results are encouraging. The edema is greatly reduced." Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "I'll want another scan by the end of the day tomorrow, and if it continues to dissipate, I think he could leave the next morning, even if he hasn't woken up. Bobby has mentioned that you aren't keen on staying here." Her tone was not accusatory, but rather sympathetic. The knot that had taken up residence in Dean's stomach started to unfurl.

"What about the, uh, other activity you were seeing?" Dean asked.

She smiled. "It's less than it was before. Still abnormally high, but I'm not quite as alarmed. Perhaps this is his brain's way of trying to cope with the trauma." _You have no idea_ , Dean thought bitterly to himself. "Either way, I'm very hopeful we will release him in the next few days. He should make a full recovery." _If only he could make a full recovery from the goddamn devil._ He sighed heavily and the doctor looked him up and down. "How are you doing, Dean? You have also suffered a severe trauma."

Dean waved away her attention. "Just a broken bone. It will heal. Sam's the one I'm worried about."

"I know, but from what Bobby tells me, you keep that one safe. He's gonna need you when he wakes up."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, returning the smile she gave him.

"I'll see you two tomorrow."

Bobby turned to Dean after she left. "He's gonna be alright, Dean."

"Yeah, until he wakes up!" Dean ran his hands through his hair. "Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll have amnesia?" Dean laughed at himself. "Like we ever get lucky." He tilted his head back and allowed it to bang against the wall. "Bobby, God, you should have seen him. Staring at nothing. I haven't seen him that scared since he was little." Dean shook his head in defeat.

"I know what you mean. While you were out tracking down the Leviathan, I caught him shouting at nothing."

Dean grimaced. "What was he saying?" _Why do I even wanna know?_

"He asked," Bobby paused, trying to recall the words exactly. ""If this is some dream and you got power over it, why don't you just end it?" He was quiet for half a minute, listening. He shook his head then said "Shut up," paused, then shouted "I said, shut up!"" Bobby smiled sadly. "I spoke up and startled him. He didn't even see me at first. Did a double take to where he had been looking. Poor kid just apologized to me, saying he wasn't sure he could do this. Looked freaked out of his mind, flinched once, kept looking over my shoulder."

"I guess Lucifer has no respect for personal space," Dean quipped angrily, the memories of Castiel initially always appearing too close to him enhancing his outrage. Who was he kidding? Sam had _been_ Lucifer's personal space. He banished that thought as quickly as he could. Almost two years on and it was still too much to bear.

Bobby huffed, a little amused. But he frowned and put his head down. "Shoulda known he wasn't okay."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he understood Bobby's meaning. "Yeah, actually, about that. Why the hell did you think you could leave him alone?" Bobby knew this conversation was coming, but he hadn't been quite prepared for the acidic fury in Dean's voice. "He has a head full of Hell and you think it's okay to let him stew? You left loaded guns out. Had I missed one turn or something, Sam could have—" He inhaled sharply and looked away, unable to finish the sentence.

Bobby cringed. "I know, Dean, I know. It was stupid. I guess I was concentrated on the Leviathians and Sheriff Mills called... it sounded like she needed help more than Sam did at the moment."

"I hope she's fucking grateful," Dean spat.

"Don't be mad at her. It was my decision, and Sam's for that matter. He told me to go."

"Oh, sure, listen to the guy with the devil-infested brain, because he's totally gonna be making the best choices."

"Hey, you left too."

"Because you were supposed to be there watching him!"

The older hunter sighed. "Look, I'm sorry Dean. But we got him, it's gonna be okay."

"Yeah, just a little suicidal Sam with some brain injury on the side. Piece of cake." Dean pushed himself up with his crutches and hobbled over to Sam, his back to Bobby.

"Dean—"

"Whatever, Bobby."

Bobby ground his teeth. He understood Dean's frustration, but he was just one man. He couldn't be everywhere at once. Yes, he had misjudged how severe Sam's condition truly was, but it's hardly like he'd gone out for a beer. He was following the hunter mission, saving people. He shook his head. Dean wouldn't see it that way, especially when it came to Sam. He left wordlessly, disinclined to risk antagonizing Dean further.

* * *

Dean's thumb rubbed a well-worn track in the blanket over Sam's knee. He knew he could only hold Bobby partially responsible. He was right: Dean had also left. The words of Dr. Boreseren echoed in his mind. _"You keep that one safe."_ Bang-up job he did here. Not only did he let Sam jump into Hell, he hadn't found a way to save him for 180 years of Hell-time, and when he had, it ultimately failed, leaving Sam broken in ways Dean would probably never understand. That had been Cas's fault, breaking his damn wall. Dean sighed. He still couldn't blame the angel for that entirely. Castiel had warned him not to restore Sam's soul. The son of a bitch had been right, but Dean couldn't live with soul-less Sam any more than he could live without Sam at all. That's what had started this all in the first place. If he hadn't brought Sam back, he'd be in Heaven with mom. Who was he kidding? There were a thousand different decisions he could have made to avoid all of this. What was the point in considering that now? The what-ifs would drive him mad. He fought a yawn but decided sleep wasn't the worst option. Better than sitting here staring at his battered brother. He made himself comfortable and quickly dropped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The aroma of fast food penetrated his slumber. He inhaled the comforting scent as he stretched and looked around. Bobby was holding out a grease-stained bag like an olive branch. Dean smiled and accepted the peace offering. "Thanks, Bobby." He opened the bag to find a burger and fries. Simple, but always appreciated. He took a few bites to sate his hunger before turning to his surrogate father. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. It's not your fault. I'm just at the breaking point here. I'm not sure how many more hits I can take."

Bobby held up a hand. "I get it. No need to apologize. You're right. I shouldn't have left him alone. This whole situation just sucks balls."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hear ya." He looked at Sam and fought the urge to scream. He couldn't do this much longer. Sam had to wake up. They had to save him. "What do we do? What if he wakes up with Lucifer still in tow?" Dean clutched Sam's limp hand as if it were the only thing keeping Satan at bay.

The older man swallowed nervously. He had given the issue a lot of thought but was no closer to a solution than Dean. This wasn't a problem they could easily solve, and the answer sure as hell wasn't in any dusty book. "I don't know, Dean. But we'll figure it out. We always do."

Dean held back a growl. "Yeah like last time? When we let him say 'yes' to the devil and dive into Hell? Brilliant idea, that one." He let out a deep breath, ignoring Bobby's chagrin. "You're right. We'll figure this out. Screw Cas, screw Death, screw all these sons of bitches that think they're better than us! We'll beat 'em Sammy, don't you worry."

Bobby couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face. Dean had lost Sam too many times to accept this was his fate. The stubborn Winchester will would win out. It had never let them down before, and Bobby saw no reason to lose his faith now.

* * *

The two older hunters sat in companionable silence, each pondering their next move. Bobby was in a chair against the wall, absently looking through a magazine. Dean was sitting in a chair facing Sam's bed, his head tucked into Sam's hip and his left arm laying on Sam's stomach. He felt the tremor as it started in his brother's shoulders and spread instantly to his whole body. He sprang into action, pinning Sam's wrists against the blankets.

"What's happening?!" Bobby exclaimed, rushing to Dean's side. "Should I call a nurse?"

"Some sort of seizure. I think I got it. Here, hold his wrists," Dean instructed, moving his own hands to cup Sam's face. "Sammy," he murmured, caressing Sam's cheek with his thumb. "I'm here. I got you. Big brother's here. You're not with Lucifer anymore. You're free. He can't hurt you anymore. He'll never hurt you again, not as long as I live, Sammy." He carefully moved Sam over on the bed and nestled his body next to Sam's. He pressed his weight against his brother, hoping the physical pressure would be enough to reassure Sam. One hand stroked Sam's long hair, the other gently rubbing his cut. He held his cheek to Sam's, whispering into his ear. "You feel that, Sam? I got you. No one is gonna hurt you." Sam's shaking began to subside. He kept up his comforting refrain. "You're safe. You're not in the cage. I gotcha. And I'm never letting go. You're my pain in the ass baby brother and I can't live without you. Don't you dare give up, because I'm not giving up on you." He laid his head on Sam's chest and was relieved to hear the frantic pace slowing. He continued to smooth Sam's locks until the soon steady rhythm of his brother's heart lulled him to sleep.

Bobby blinked back a few rogue tears. For all of Dean's manly bluster and gruff attitude, the tenderness with which he showered Sam was incredible. He got a blanket and draped it across Dean. Dean needed to heal too; with all his worrying about Sam, that couldn't happen. He crept out of the room silently, satisfied both his boys were as safe as they could be at the moment.


	3. Day 3

**Day 3**

"Dean!" He lifted his head at his name. Sam? Sam! His brother was awake! He peeled himself away from Sam but got tangled in the blanket. He heard Sam snicker and looked up at his brother, smiling. Instead of seeing his brother's enlivened, caring face, he was taken aback by the hatred in Sam's eyes.

"Sammy?" he queried, unsure what was happening.

"Dean, how could you do this to me?"

"Do what, Sam?" Dean was confused. He scrambled to get out of the bed and give Sam some space.

The contempt in Sam's voice was blistering. "Do what, you ask? Like you don't know. Like breaking the first seal wasn't your fault. Like agreeing to let me jump into Hell because you're too weak and afraid to say 'yes' to Michael. Then not getting me out of Hell even though I tried everything – everything! – to get you back when you went downstairs. Oh, and then you stuffed this disgusting toilet rag of a soul back into my rather well-functioning body all because you couldn't bear to be alone. You would rather I live in excruciating pain every minute, being torn apart by Lucifer every second of my life, than be alone. How fucked up are you that you would do this, let alone consider it?!"

Dean sputtered in surprise, unable to respond meaningfully to his brother's unexpected, but unfortunately accurate, outburst. Sam didn't wait for Dean to collect his thoughts.

"You didn't even think about what it would do to me, even though everyone told you not to do it! Cas, Crowley, even Death warned against it. But you in your selfish arrogance, you've cursed me to an eternity of suffering with a shattered soul because you were sad! Poor little Dean. You should have just left me down there, Dean, or better yet, killed me when Dad told you to. We all would have been better off. But what's done is done. All I can do is stop you from ruining what's left of my life any more than you already have." Sam's long fingers slid around Dean's neck. As he aggressively applied pressure, dark spots appeared in Dean's field of vision, obscuring the last glimpses of his brother's angry face before he lost consciousness.

* * *

His eyes snapped open and he heard a gasp for air. It was from himself. He reached for his throat, expecting to find Sam's hands but instead felt the blanket wrapped around his neck. He clawed at it, desperate to relieve the burning sensation enveloping his nerves. Finally, he loosened the cloth's grip and drew in several deep breaths, staring at the ceiling tiles with unusual interest. _Sam_ , his mind screamed and he twisted to look at his brother. His vital signs were as calm and steady as his expression, unchanged from the night before. Dean blinked in confusion, then realized he had been dreaming. He bit his lip, unsure if he was thankful Sam hadn't really said those things to him or ashamed because he knew those things to be true regardless. He stared at the still features of Sam's face, wishing more than anything that they would animate once again and he would smile, that his brother could be happy again.

What if Sam did hate him when he woke up? Dean had put his soul back against his body's wishes… but the re-souled Sam had been horrified to know he was walking around without a soul. Isn't this what he would have wanted? Or perhaps it would have been better to kill soulless Sam. Bobby's words replayed in his brain: " _Oh, and leave the real Sam to suffer for all of eternity?_ " Bobby was right; Sam had to be rescued one way or another, but maybe the decision to put Sam's soul back had been wrong. It wasn't really his to make, but no one else could make it, and Dean couldn't go on the way things were.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he flinched, abruptly drawn from his thoughts into the present. "Dean, you alright?" Bobby's voice was filled with concern. He awkwardly rolled over to face his surrogate father.

"Yeah, I, uh, just didn't sleep too well," he responded vaguely, rubbing absent-mindedly at his neck.

Bobby huffed, annoyed. "Don't lie to me, son." Dean eyed him carefully. "I came in a few times and you were sound asleep. Tried to wake ya. So what's really botherin' you?"

Dean looked down. He opened his mouth but paused, unsure of exactly what to say. "Had a nightmare about Sam…" Bobby looked at Dean expectantly, waiting for him to continue. "That he woke up and he… he hated me for putting his soul back, for all the things I had done to him. He tried to strangle me. I woke up and realized it was just the blanket wrapped around my neck." Dean smiled sheepishly, trying to downplay the guilt he felt.

Bobby squinted his eyes, trying to determine if Dean was telling the whole story. He decided the chagrined look on Dean's face meant he was being honest. He held back an exasperated sigh. "Dean, none of this is your fault. I know you feel responsible for keeping Sam safe. You always have. Ever since Sam was six months old, John expected you to parent him. That wasn't fair of your daddy. But now you're stuck with this burden—"

"Sam isn't a burden," Dean interrupted, reflexive defensiveness hardening his voice.

"No, not Sam, this idea that you have to protect Sam from everything."

"Who else will?" Dean didn't mean it as a challenge, but more as a statement of fact. There wasn't anyone else left to look out for Sam. In fact, there were probably more things out to hurt him than help him, including his own mind. Bobby opened his mouth to reply but was chastened by the steeled expression on Dean's face. Normally, he would fight Dean on this, but he had to admit that Sam was damaged in a way they couldn't hope to understand. Sam would need all the support he could get if—he caught the nagging doubt crawling up from the depths of his psyche— _when_ Sam woke up.

* * *

Pure. Absolute purity. It was the only concept Sam could maintain as his captor braided his flayed nerves. He was already bound with the nerve fibers from his legs; those from his spine were artfully splayed out on his back like wispy feathers. The sheer unadulterated burn of compromised nervous tissue was almost a relief. At least it was a respite from the psychological or emotional cruelty Lucifer inflicted with equal delight. He heard the devil's pleased intake of breath and tried to immerse himself in the pain to silence Lucifer's voice. "But Sam, you do hear what I'm saying, right? I'm not just talking to myself here? Because you _have_ to know there's no way you could have escaped from the cage." Sam squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and tensed what was left of his body as he attempted to recede into the emptiest corners of his mind. Instead Lucifer's voice took on the feel of roaring ocean waves, leaving him struggling for a fragment of sanity to save him from slipping under. "Logic should be your strong suit, Mr. Lawyer. You _know_ you're still in the cage, you _know_ you're still with me," he drawled, relishing Sam's pointless attempt to drown out the voice that permeated every inch of his being. Lucifer wrapped the exposed median and ulnar nerves around his finger like a wedding band. "See, Sammy? Our vow is forever." His crystal blue eyes flared with red. "You are mine, forever." With that, he balled his fingers into a fist and yanked his hand away, ripping the raw nerves from their sheath. Despite himself, despite knowing how futile it was, Sam screamed as though his body had forgotten the decades of exquisite suffering, as though this was the worst depravity enacted on his mutilated soul, as though nothing worse could be imagined. Sam bit back another cry because he knew he was wrong. He had been wrong every time so far.

* * *

Movement caught Dean's attention and broke him out of his absent-minded reverie. A subtle tremble was coursing through Sam's tall frame. Dean grabbed his hand as he had done before and waited for the tremor to subside. However, the shaking intensified and Dean noticed with alarm the drop of blood trickling out of Sam's nose. Fear blossomed within Dean. "No, no, no, Sam. You're supposed to be getting better!" Memories of Sam's previous supernatural-induced nosebleeds intruded into Dean's mind. Deep red appeared whenever Sam tried to exorcise a demon on the edge of his ability. Samhain, when Sam had _promised_ he was done with his psychic stuff. But he did it anyway... Again with Famine, though Dean was more sympathetic towards that instance. Sam had been manipulated by Famine, but still managed to resist the temptation of a demon buffet. Regardless, he had taxed himself dangerously. And then when his wall was crumbling under Cas's hand, and yet again Sam pushed himself to help Dean. A pang of shame flashed through Dean as he considered all the times he felt Sam had deserted him. Sam wasn't perfect, but he sacrificed so much more than he took. When Dean really needed him, he was there. He wished with all his heart he could do the same for Sam, but he had no idea where to start.

The wail of Sam's heart monitor brought Dean back to the present. Another drop was chasing its twin. Anxiety began to build in him. If the doctors saw Sam wasn't getting better, they wouldn't let him leave. And they had to get out of here, just in case the Leviathan were looking for them. Plus, Dean didn't want to be here when Sam woke up in case Lucifer was still around, because that was sure to land Sam in the looney bin. That just wasn't an option. Overcoming the surge of guilt harassing his conscience, he took Sam's hand and pressed the wound hard enough such that blood soon discolored the pristine gauze. He massaged the broken tissue until Sam's shaking ceased.

Looking around to ensure a nurse wouldn't catch him, he raided the cabinets to find new gauze. He had to replace the bandage before anyone noticed. He quickly rewrapped Sam's hand and resumed his bedside post. The moment he sat down he realized he hadn't cleaned up the nosebleed. Hearing footsteps down the hall, he sprung up to hide the evidence. As soon as he had wiped it away, Bobby turned the corner.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Bobby?" He scrunched the paper towel up in his hand as he faced Bobby.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" Dean lied. Bobby arched an eyebrow. "What? Oh," and he gestured to himself standing up, "Sam had some gnarly boogers."

"Uh-huh…" Bobby murmured. "Right little mother hen you are…" He held Dean's eyes for a moment but the younger man looked away. Bobby knew Dean wasn't being honest with him, but he didn't have the heart to undo the relief that spread on Dean's face when Bobby asked if he was hungry.

"Oh, God, yes!" He grabbed his crutches and followed Bobby to the hospital cafeteria.

"You're moving pretty well on those things now," Bobby observed.

Dean grunted in agreement. "You get used to it…"

"Well I didn't," Bobby said quietly.

Dean stopped. "What? Oh… when you were in a wheelchair you mean?" His companion nodded. "Sorry, Bobby, I uh, didn't mean—"

Bobby smiled softly. "Dean, it's fine. Just good to see that the Winchester boys are so resilient."

 _Until they're not,_ Dean thought. But he pushed the doubt away as the glorious smell of food caught his interest. He hobbled over to the hot food area and grabbed a tray. Bobby wondered how long it would take Dean to ask for help. Dean piled a big plate of lasagna next to a bowl of roasted potatoes. Bobby waited to see how cocky he would be. In true Dean fashion, he filled a cup to the brim and placed it on his tray. Bobby stifled a laugh and approached Dean, preparing to avert certain disaster. A group of attractive doctors clad in scrubs walked by, laughing with each other, and that's what did Dean in. Distracted, the tray started to tilt precariously, almost freeing its contents until Bobby righted it. Dean blushed slightly and Bobby chuckled. He took the tray from Dean and nodded for him to go to a table.

Dean collapsed into the chair and rubbed at his cast. "I freaking hate this thing," he complained.

"Too bad. You're stuck with it for another four weeks. You really want permanent damage from this? Gonna be tough to outrun monsters with a limp."

Dean harrumphed with frustration. "You're right…" he mumbled. He distracted himself with food and dug into the lasagna with gusto.

"I trust you to not wreck anything else while I'm gone?" Bobby chided jokingly, earning him a middle finger from Dean since his mouth was full.

Once alone, Dean's natural hunter instincts kicked in as he scanned the room for threats. Instead, his eyes were caught by the various clumps of people sharing the cafeteria with him. Doctors, solitary or in groups, reviewed stacks of papers or talked in hushed tones. The nurses and technicians seemed a little more jovial, appearing to talk about things other than work. Administrative personnel mostly stuck to themselves, though some would catch a passing doctor or tech to deliver a message. Patients and their families were a mixed bag. Some were smiling and happy, undoubtedly due to a positive prognosis. Others were morose and somber, picking at their food in silence. Dean felt most aligned to the latter group. He was trying his best to suppress the anxiety that was so eager to consume him. Sam had to wake up. He couldn't live the rest of his life with Sam as a vegetable. And what about Sam? What a waste of his life…

 _Sam's life_ … Dean put down his fork as sadness stole his appetite. What would Sam's life have been without all of this? Without the supernatural, would Sam have lived that mythic apple-pie life, been a lawyer, gotten married, had kids? He tried to imagine Sam as a father. At first, he couldn't shake the idea that Sam was still just a kid himself, that there was no way he could be a dad. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized Sam would have been a great father. He would be committed beyond anything to his children. He would teach them everything he knew, instill in them a sense of wonder about the universe, despite all of the evil that he knew existed within it. He had a genuine optimism that Dean didn't share; hell, Dean didn't even understand it. It was Sam who'd had the faith in Cas to call out to him to stop, not Dean. Not Dean, with whom Castiel felt he shared a 'special bond.' No, it was Sam, because Sam believed in the good in people triumphing over the bad. Dean envied that quality in his brother, but knew it also made Sam vulnerable.

The scrape of the chair opposite him made Dean jump. "Dean?" Bobby asked, concern tinting his voice.

"Yeah, I'm here… just…" He sighed and looked up at Bobby. "Do you think Sam could have been this? Could have had a life like this?" He gestured to the doctors busily shoving food in their mouths. "He was going to be a professional…"

Bobby seated himself across from Dean and took in the scene around him. "Yeah, I suppose so, but that's not how it worked out. The moment Azazel chose him, everything changed. There's no avoiding that."

"I know, I know…" He sighed again, defeated.

"It's okay, son. He'll get through this. You both will," Bobby supplied. Dean nodded but said nothing in return. What else was there to say?

* * *

They returned to Sam in silence, each wrapped up in their own solemn thoughts. A nurse was bathing Sam with a sponge. He finished quickly and left with a wordless nod to the two men. It sent knives through Dean to see his brother so helpless. He laid a hand on Sam's and willed him to wake up. He knew it didn't work like that, but that wouldn't stop Dean from trying!

"Dean," a soft voice called and he was instantly alert. Dr. Boreseren smiled at him. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you, but I wanted to take Sam for another scan." Dean nodded and pushed himself back from Sam's bed. Several nurses unhooked all the connections and they wheeled him away. Dean sat in the chair and waited.

Bobby could see this was beginning to take a toll on Dean. But he didn't know what to do about it. They couldn't make Sam wake up from a coma. The possible consequences were too dangerous. And was being awake even the best thing for Sam? Perhaps a break from Lucifer was a blessing. At least he hoped Sam was getting a break. The thought of Lucifer tormenting Sam in unconsciousness was enough to drive Bobby mad. He refocused his attention on the restless Winchester. Worry was eating away at him, but, Bobby supposed, worry is better than grief. They'd been there before.

Dr. Boreseren returned with Sam, a hopeful smile on her face. "Sam is healing well. I feel comfortable releasing him tomorrow afternoon. I'll have my nurses instruct you tomorrow on how to take care of him until he wakes up. I am hoping it will be soon. He will likely struggle and still be in pain when he comes to. Be patient with him."

Dean nodded, relief embracing his anxious heart. "I got it, doc. He'll be well looked after." Dean smiled as he turned back to Sam and grabbed his hand. "We're getting you outta here soon, man. You'll be back with us in no time. I know it."

* * *

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A/N: I promise Sam will wake up soon, though he's really going to wish he hadn't.

Thank you so much for all the views, follows, favorites, and the reviews! Got one more boring chapter to write.


	4. Day 4

**Day 4**

A/N: Short chapter. So we can get to the good stuff. :D

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Dean resisted crossing his eyes as a fourth nurse told him about yet another thing he had to do in order to prevent this or that complication. This had been going on for… he surreptitiously glanced at his watch… over two hours now. Not that he didn't want to do everything right for Sam, but, they had taken care of themselves pretty well over the years without professional help. He suppressed a sigh and focused on what the nurse was saying. "…And if anything changes, or you are unsure about anything, just bring him back in," he heard for the twentieth time.

"I will," he answered absently. He waited for the nurse to continue. Instead Bobby had to break the awkward silence that ensued by clearing his throat. "We can take him home now?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Yes. We'll get him loaded up into a wheelchair and he'll be discharged. Do you think you two can move him?"

"Just 'cause my leg is busted doesn't mean my arms don't work."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Alright, tough guy. Let's get you two knuckleheads loaded up."

The nurses gently shifted Sam to a wheelchair and brought him out to a car Bobby had

somehow procured. Dean slid himself into the back and put his leg through the two front seats.

"Really, Dean?" Bobby complained.

"What? Where else am I gonna put it? On Sam's lap?"

"Fine…" Bobby grit his teeth but became solemn as the nurses and Dean struggled to get Sam's tall frame into the backseat. After moving the front passenger seat as far forward as it would go, they were able to arrange Sam safely in the back. Dean removed the headrest so his head could loll back over the seat instead of hang down on his chest. He almost looked dead and it sent shivers through Dean's soul. He couldn't bear handling Sam's dead body one more time. He swallowed against the anguish crawling up his throat and turned to Bobby. "Ready?" Bobby asked.

"Hell yes! Let's blow this joint!"

* * *

The drive to the cabin wasn't actually that long, but to Dean it felt like forever as he watched his brother's head bounce up and down with every pothole or bump in the road. Several times he had to reach over and catch Sam's head. Last thing they needed was some kind of injury to his vertebrae. Dean sighed. Last thing they needed was everything that had happened to them in their entire lives.

Dean stretched out in the armchair the best he could. It had taken quite a bit of effort to move Sam into the house by themselves. The borrowed wheelchair definitely helped, but, stairs, a broken leg, a bad back, and almost 200 pounds of bone, muscle, and hair do not mix well. They'd managed to get Sam to the couch. Bobby was connecting the necessary medical apparatuses, though he sometimes had issues reading Dean's handwritten notes from the nurse. "Would it have killed you to write a little clearer?"

"Bite me," Dean returned, tired. The pain medication wore him down more than he'd like to admit. "Didn't see you taken notes, too."

Bobby grumbled but didn't respond. He could see the dark circles under Dean's eyes. He decided to be gracious in light of Dean's snark. "I almost got Sam set up here. How are you doin'?"

Dean sighed. "I'm alright. Leg doesn't hurt too much as long as I keep popping the pills. They make me so groggy though…"

"That's alright. You need the sleep too. I'll watch Sam while you get some rest," he offered. Dean hesitated, his eyes lingering on Sam. "I got 'im, Dean." Dean nodded and made his way over to the cot. He laid his crutches down with a sigh and was asleep minutes later.

* * *

Bobby woke Dean up after a few hours, informing him he was going to return the wheelchair to the hospital and run some other errands. He informed Dean nothing was different with Sam, and that he should go back to bed. Dean readily complied.

Dean roused himself an hour later to check on Sam's vital signs, despite knowing full well the alarm would sound if anything changed significantly. Part of him kept waiting for Sam's eyes to pop open, returning his brother to him complete and sane. But he knew that would not happen. He may have been able to pull Sam back from the ledge, but they were still on the cliff. They had a long walk back. Dean pushed back the wave of agony threatening to submerge him. He set his alarm to go off in another hour, determined to take care of his little brother.

And so his watch continued, an ever-anxious Dean protecting the long-suffering Sam.


	5. Day 5

**Day 5**

A/N: There is a term in this chapter that if you are not familiar with, and are freaked out by creepy crawlies, I do not recommend googling. But if you want to understand Sam's horror, google away.

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* * *

 _This is so messed up,_ Dean thought to himself, watching Sam's chest rise and fall rhythmically as he lay sprawled over the couch. _I'm actually happy he's still passed out._ It had been a day since they'd left the hospital and part of him wished to see Sam stir. But Dean was more content to let him sleep. _Saves him from whatever torture his brain is cooking up._ At least that's what he hoped. The idea of Sam re-experiencing Hell but being unable to escape his own mind was unbearable. He eyed his brother's left hand, a trace amount of blood still darkening the bandage from when Dean needed to stop the seizures. _Fuck you, Lucifer,_ Dean mentally shouted, a wave of rage seizing him. He took a deep breath. The only thing he could do now was help Sam. Despite the tendrils of pain radiating up and down his leg, he hobbled over to the couch. He struggled to shift Sam's over-sized body. _He'll be so pissed if I let him get bedsores._ He adjusted Sam to the best of his abilities and checked his IV bag. Still plenty of fluid. Grimacing, he checked the catheter. It was fine. Both relief and anxiety surged over him as he thought back to when Cas had first broken his wall. _Thank God you woke up, Sammy. I couldn't live watching you like this, not knowing if you'd ever wake up._ Dean bit his lip, guilt threatening to close his throat. _Not that you came back...you. Don't do that to me again, man. I need you here. All here._ Deep down, Dean dreaded Sam waking up. It would be the moment of truth revealing whether Sam was really with him or still trapped in Hell.

* * *

It was early evening when Bobby entered the cabin to find Dean slouched against Sam on the couch, half-falling off. He went to rouse Dean but he had his arms wrapped protectively around his little brother, as if Dean's physical proximity alone could save Sam from himself. Bobby sighed. How had their lives come to this? _One son broken on the outside, one son broken on the inside. Stop. One problem at a time._ He shook his head and put away the groceries. The fresh spinach he had gotten Sam the first day had already wilted. He replaced it with the bunch he just bought. He frowned, annoyed that he had let such optimism overtake him. "Nothing's ever easy," he grumbled to himself, shutting the fridge. He looked back at the brothers, peaceful in their unconsciousness. He reopened the door and snagged a beer. He sank into the arm chair, content to watch his boys in silence. At least they were alive.

* * *

Sam attempted to lift the heaviness dragging down his eyelids. A faint pounding echoed in his ears. His pulse? As sensation returned to his body, he felt a weight pressed tight against his body. A cold weight. Instantly his eyes flew open and he struggled against the form in front him. "Get off me! I—, get off!" he exclaimed, frantically pushing his hands against the blonde head resting heavily on his chest. Vaguely he registered a thud on the floor as someone sprung towards him. He couldn't move, pinned under Lucifer's body. Shame flushed through Sam's cheeks. This was humiliating.

Dean groggily opened his eyes. "Mhm... what's happening?" He felt flailing limbs against his head, heard a desperate voice crying for escape. Wait, that was Sam's voice. _Sam? SAM!_ Dean lurched himself upright, turning to look at Sam. Sickening fear burned in his eyes, his hands scrambling, clawing for a grip on anything.

"Don't touch me, you promised you'd leave me alone for a little bit if I was good! Please, leave me alone," Sam plead, his voice raspy with disuse. He was begging with his whole body as he looked into Dean's eyes. Dean quickly stood up, relieving the pressure Sam's body felt. The reprieve obviously shocked him, drawing a stutter out of his gaping mouth. "Th-thank you." Sam dropped his eyes from Dean's face, seeming to regain his composure. "I-I'm sorry I fought you," he apologized meekly, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"Sam, you don't have to apologi—" Sam's flinch as Dean reached for him stopped him in his tracks. "Sam?" His giant brother looked so small, curled in on himself. "Sammy? It's me." Dean glanced at Bobby; the older man seemed to be holding his breath. _"What do I do?"_ Dean mouthed as Sam sat with his eyes closed, rocking almost imperceptibly. Bobby motioned to his hand, where Sam's cut was. Dean reached for Sam's hand and the slight contact made Sam recoil against the arm of the couch, his eyes wide in anticipatory fear. His chest heaved erratically, as if his lungs had forgotten how to function. "Sam, it's me. It's Dean, your brother." Dean took a deep breath, steadying his voice. This was so much worse than he had expected. "I'm going to grab your hand now. Please let me touch it. May I touch your hand?" Dean said slowly. Sam looked up at him and nodded silently. "Here I go," he murmured and carefully took the injured hand into his own. Gently, he pressed on the wound, willing Sam to snap out of it. "Feel that? That's real. This cut is real. Whatever Lucifer did to you—is doing to you," he corrected, "it's not real. I'm real. Bobby's real. Right here, right now. You understand me?" He pressed a little harder for emphasis.

Sam slowly drew his hand towards his body, massaging the broken tissue with increasing pressure. Silently, he watched the crimson liquid blossom up through the gauze. He blinked several times and looked at Dean earnestly. "I-I'm sorry, Dean," he began, his voice still wavering.

Dean repeated himself. "Sam, you don't have to apologize for anything. It's gonna be okay." Sam slumped against him, exhausted despite having slept for five days straight. Sweat shone on his face. _"A little help here!?"_ Dean said silently to Bobby, who appeared just as worried as Dean felt.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up. How's a warm shower to clear your head, huh?" Bobby offered, slowly approaching Sam.

Sam nodded and looked to Dean for affirmation. He smiled encouragingly in response. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was more like Sam was asking for permission. And then Dean wasn't sure if his brother was looking directly at him or slightly over his shoulder. The smile died on his lips.

* * *

Bobby returned to the living room once he heard the water running. Dean was on the couch, running his hands through his hair. He tried to stand when Bobby approached, but faltered as his leg gave out. Bobby opened his mouth to chastise Dean but his target spoke first. "Bobby, this is bad. I mean really bad. What the hell are we gonna do?" he babbled frantically, anxiety threatening to swallow him whole. "I can't keep explaining reality every damn second."

"Cut him some slack. He just woke up. He was probably dreaming about all that stuff so of course he'll be a bit thrown when he comes to. Just give him some time to acclimate. He'll be okay." He tried to sound calm, but he doubted the words as they came out of his mouth. A weak yell from the shower confirmed that doubt. Dean tried to move towards the bathroom, instead falling over the coffee table with a loud crash. "Goddammit!" Bobby exclaimed, torn between rescuing Sam from his imagined plight and checking to see if Dean was physically hurt. Sam's choked cry for his brother quickly resolved his indecision. He opened the door to find Sam curled in the bathtub, furiously scrubbing at his skin with a washcloth. The rag was clearly inadequate for the purpose; Sam flung it away and began scratching with his nails. Long red streaks swelled up over his arms and legs as he sought out every inch of skin. Bobby moved forward and grabbed his wrists, yanking his body up roughly. The sheer temperature of his skin was alarming but he couldn't turn the water off without letting go of Sam. "Dean!? I could use a hand here!" Dean crawled into the doorway in time to see the myriad fine trails of blood coursing down Sam's body with the shower water.

"Stop, stop!" Sam gasped, fighting against Bobby's firm grasp. "I have to get them out. Just let me get them out. Let go! Please let go!" He writhed against his captor, trying to scratch his calves with his feet. "They'll-they'll get inside me!" Sam explained, frenzied.

Despite himself, Bobby heard himself asking "What? What will get inside you?"

"I-I don't know! They're—" Sam paused momentarily, looking to the side. Instinctually Bobby glanced over and saw nothing.

"Giant isopods," Lucifer said calmly, smiling as he leaned against the wall. His Father had made some truly terrifying creations that he would have been proud to call his own. Sam repeated the name; it held no meaning for Bobby or Dean. Lucifer held out his palm to show Sam an every-growing wriggling mass. "They'll start out real small but once they get inside, they get this big." He gestured to the size of his head. "They'll crawl all around your body. You'll feel them slide under your skin and through your organs." Lucifer struggled against a grin as Sam's renewed attempt to escape succeeded. "Why bother, Sam? You can't even reach everywhere on your body. I find that to be a very inefficient design. But, at the moment, rather useful," he commented optimistically. Sam flung himself against the wall, desperately trying to rub his back to prevent the little crawlies from embedding themselves. Ripping the towel rack out of the wall, he pulled the ragged plaster and rusty metal fixture across his skin. Bobby reached for the towel rack as Dean appeared behind him and landed a solid punch to Sam's uninjured temple.

Sam's body crumpled and Bobby tried to break his fall. The scalding water drenched him, seeping into his clothes. "The water, Dean!" Bobby hollered, pain washing over his skin in his attempt to carefully lower Sam into the bathtub.

Dean slammed his hand down on the handle, ceasing the painful deluge. He positioned himself on the lip of the tub and felt for Sam's pulse, instead struck by the heat radiating off his glistening skin. "He's on fire. We gotta cool him down!" Dean turned the shower knob to as cold as it could go and blasted Sam with the icy water.

"Not so cold, you'll make him hypothermic!" Bobby pushed Dean out of the way and changed the temperature to lukewarm. Silently he watched the beaded blood on Sam's limbs swirl slowly down the drain. He shook his head. Sam's body wouldn't tolerate much more of this. He glanced at Dean. Dean couldn't take much more of this either. But he had a bad feeling this was only the beginning.

They dragged Sam to the couch and dressed him the best they could, cleaning and wrapping any deep scratches as they went. Dean's hand lingered on the anti-possession tattoo. "Why couldn't we have something like this against angels? None of this would have happened…" he said to no one in particular. Sadness swelled within Bobby. Sam had done some despicable things, but he had made the greatest sacrifice one could make. Now it looked like he would never stop paying for it. It would be the death of him, and that in itself would be the death of Dean. Losing one child, whether it was Dean after his demon deal or Sam after Lucifer, had not been easy. It was a tragedy he did not want to repeat, regardless of how experienced he was with death when it came to these boys. He wasn't sure he could handle one more goddamn time. The older brother's groan of disgust broke Bobby out of his reverie. "Is this what Sam was saying!?" He held up Sam's laptop, showing Bobby what looked like a giant, armored pillbug with far too many appendages to not be nightmare fuel.

Bobby blinked in surprise. "And we don't hunt those things!?" he murmured, partially out of disbelief. The miniature versions were bad enough, scuttling around in the basement. These were the size of a cat.

Dean gulped hard. "No wonder he was so upset. Fucking Lucifer made him think those things were going to eat him from the inside out!" Thoughts Dean had tried to suppress rose to the surface. "Bobby," Dean's voice was low and serious. "What else do you think... Lucifer did to him?"

Bobby turned away, hiding his face. "He was down there a long time, I'm sure the devil got creative." He too tried to bury those thoughts. Swiveling back, Dean looked as though he was about to break down. "Hey, Sam got through it before, he'll get through it now. He's a tough kid," Bobby offered. _Can you really out-tough the devil, though?_ he pondered, unsure. He shook the thoughts out of his head. "Dean, go get some rest. Sam'll need you in the morning and you're no good to him like this."

Dean grumbled in agreement and dragged himself to the cot in the corner. Collapsing, he was asleep within minutes, though if his constant twitching was any indication, it was hardly a restful sleep. Bobby followed long after, once the alcohol in his system prevented him from thinking any more about the events of the day. Sleep would be a sweet release.


	6. Day 6

**Day 6**

A/N: Finally getting to the good stuff. And much longer chapters. Thank you all so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites. It means so much to me.

I will try to publish chapters regularly, but work is getting a bit more demanding. Sometimes I wish this whole cancer research thing could take a backseat to Supernatural and writing fanfic, but alas, I like to eat and sleep somewhere soft. Priorities, right?

Anyway, let me know what you think of Hallucifer this chapter! I think you'll like him. Reviews = happiness.

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Bright light pressed against his eyelids as Sam woke abruptly from REM sleep. Was it really that late in the day? He didn't feel rested. "Well, you didn't sleep for a hundred and eighty years, Sammy. Gotta make up all that time somehow!" a familiar voice cooed. Sam's eyes snapped open and he realized it wasn't sunlight that woke him, but fire light. Everywhere. How had he slept through this? He sprung off the couch, dodging debris. The beams were collapsing from the ceiling. He approached the front door but was blocked by a falling piece of burning wood. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean's coat on the hook. _Dean!_ Sam spun, looking for his brother. He spotted him gracelessly sprawled out on the cot, Bobby opposite him.

"Dean! Bobby! Wake up!" he shouted, alternately shaking the two men. Sam wheezed as the smoke began to thicken and choke him. He slapped Dean, desperate to rouse him.

"Big brother doesn't want to wake up, huh? Might be because of all those empty bottles on the floor... Careful, he might be extra-combustible now!" Lucifer teased. A bottle appeared in Lucifer's hand. Mimicking a firebreather, he poured some lamp oil in his mouth, swished it briefly then blew flames towards Sam and Dean, igniting their clothes. Frantically patting it out, Sam resolved to get Dean out, awake or not. The window behind the cot was low enough he could probably push Dean out with minimal effort. Using his elbow to smash the glass, he cleared out all the shards, ignoring the thin red slices springing up on his skin. He lifted Dean onto the window sill and looked at the drop. It was only a few feet. _He'll be fine. Better than burning in here._ With a few awkward tugs and pushes, he got Dean out of the window. He heard a yelp as his brother hit the ground. He turned to get Bobby but instead saw Lucifer wink at him and then disappear. Rushing to the window, a smiling Lucifer stood over Dean as he rolled on the ground in pain. A loud shout woke Bobby and he opened his eyes in time to see Sam jump out the window.

"What the hell are you doing, Sam!?" Dean cried out as his brother accelerated towards him. The fury in his eyes caught Dean off guard. Sam positioned himself as if to pounce and Dean braced for an impact that never came. Instead, Sam tackled the air over his brother, shouting something about burning people alive. Looking up at the house, Bobby caught Dean's panicked expression. Sam rolled down the small hill locked in combat with his invisible foe. Within seconds Sam was running back up towards the cabin, ready to jump back in and rescue Bobby. The confusion on his face was evident when he saw Bobby standing at the broken window in an intact house. Sam looked to Dean, perplexed. "What's going on, Sammy?" Dean asked slowly, cautiously.

Sam lifted a limp arm to half point at the structure. "It... it was burning. I couldn't wake you up. I had to save you."

"It wasn't burning. Everything's fine. Sam, we gotta stop this. Don't you know what's real?" The desolate look in his brother's eyes answered that question. "What did I say before, man, you gotta make me stone number one and build on it. Feel your hand. That's real. Those gashes going down your arms right now are real. All that other bullshit isn't."

Sam started to shake. "I…" His legs gave way and he fell to his knees. "I can't do this, Dean."

"Yes you can. Don't you dare give up. You beat him before, you can do this." He dragged himself towards Sam, reaching out for the broken shape of his brother. Grabbing his hand, he pressed the cut. "You need to use this, Sam. Use this to chase that bastard away. I've seen you do it." Sam inhaled as he pressed the cut and the lingering smell of smoke vanished. He sighed with relief and looked at Dean, desperate for affirmation. "You got this," Dean continued, saying anything to keep his attention. "C'mon, let's go back inside and get that arm looked at. The rate you're going, you won't have any limbs left to fix."

A rare moment of brevity overcame Sam as he looked at Dean's leg with an arched eyebrow and quietly said "You're one to talk, jerk!" He was trying to make Dean feel better, but the glimpse of old Sam stabbed a white-hot rod through Dean's heart. He knew he'd never have that brother back.

* * *

Dean carefully repaired the cuts on Sam's elbow, noting the hundreds of tiny scratches crisscrossing his arms from last night's incident. Sam attended the marks with curiosity but said nothing. Dean waited for Sam to say something, for him to bring up what was happening, but the thin line of Sam's lips told Dean he wouldn't talk of his own volition. Dean sighed heavily, hoping this would prompt Sam, but was discouraged when Sam didn't even seem to notice. He pressed on one of the cuts but still drew no reaction. He dabbed some rubbing alcohol on one of the deeper slashes. Sam's arm jerked a little bit but the expression on his face remained unchanged. Sam was a thousand miles away. Thankful Bobby was out getting more first aid supplies, Dean poured the alcohol into a still open wound and was pleased when this had the desired effect. Sam sucked in air through clenched teeth, immediately grounded to reality by the burning pain. Sam looked at his brother as if he were about to chew him out but his expression softened as their eyes met. Sam instantly looked away, shamefully aware of his brokenness.

Dean sighed again. "Sam. We need to talk about this."

Sam drew his lower lip into his mouth as he stared at the corner of the room with intense fascination. He swallowed the anxiety rising in his throat. "What is there to talk about?"

Dean suppressed a growl. He knew he had to be gentle with Sam, but if Sam was going to be in denial, all bets were off. "What's going on." He decided to take it easy on his battered brother when Sam's shoulders hunched in. "Is it not getting better? Are you still seeing Lucifer?"

Sam flicked a glance at Dean then stared at his hands. "Yeah. It's just as bad as it was before…"

"Before what? Before you got knocked out?" Sam nodded. "But you know now, right? You know you're not in Hell? You can chase him away. You got out. This is real." Sam's jaw tensed and he shifted uncomfortably. "What? That doesn't help?"

Sam bit his lip then inhaled. "It almost makes it worse…"

Dean's brow furrowed. "What?! Why?"

Sam apprehensively looked at Dean, his eyes clearly wishing to look anywhere but his brother's concerned face. "Because if this is real, that means I have to fight, and –" Sam hesitated.

"What do you mean?" Dean interrupted.

Sam glanced away again, unwilling to admit his weakness directly to Dean. "In Hell, I learned it was better if I didn't fight. It was easier to just let him do whatever he wanted. Sometimes he got mad because he got bored, and he made me fight, but what was the point? He'd torture me either way." Sam paused but Dean had nothing to offer. "Knowing that this, that what he's doing, isn't real, is almost worse. It's so hard to figure out what's really happening and what's him."

"Well, easy, anything really bad is him," Dean offered.

Sam scoffed incredulously. "Really, Dean?" Dean shot him a quizzical look. "Have you seen our lives? 'Really bad' is every other day."

Dean considered this for a second but decided it wasn't worth exploring further. "Right, but you gotta know the difference between life-bad and Hell-bad."

"What, like this morning? Dean, if the cabin really was burning, I wouldn't have had the luxury of figuring out what was real. Better to act as if it's real and deal with the consequences later."

"No, Sam. Do you hear yourself? You sound ridiculous. You can't honestly believe that."

Another Dean appeared across from him, smiling comfortingly. The thin line returned to Sam's lips. Dean knew Sam was barely keeping it together. "I don't know what else to do," he confessed. He unintentionally gave Dean the puppy eyes. The frustration creeping into his brother evaporated.

"Try to figure out if it could be happening. Ignore him. Use your hand. If that doesn't work, you ask me."

Sam bobbed his head in agreement, as did the Dean copy. Sam tried desperately to mask the panic grasping at the edges of his tattered mind. The other Dean spoke up. "Yeah, Sam, just ask me. I'll tell you what's real. You can count on me."

Sam bit his cheek and focused his attention on the real Dean. At least he prayed he was the real Dean. His stomach grumbled loudly and he decided this was an opportune distraction. "I can't remember the last time I ate something. I'm starving."

"I can get you some cereal while I make some real food," Dean suggested as he rose.

"You mean I make some real food. You need to sit your ass down and get off that leg." Bobby ordered as he entered the cabin and turned on the stove.

"I'll take whatever," replied Sam, hoping to quickly quell the now deafening roar in his stomach that reminded him of darker sounds. Dean offered him the box and a mostly clean bowl, with a slightly rusty spoon.

"What, no bowl for me?" Lucifer frowned, feeling left out. Sam flinched as the devil loudly dragged a chair up to the table. "Never did like your brother. Always so rude. Guess I'll just have to get my own." He rubbed his hands together as a part of a human skull appeared before him. He reached for the box but Sam angrily snatched it first.

"Didn't know you liked corn flakes so much!" Dean observed, trying to figure out what Sam was experiencing.

Sam's expression softened as he met his brother's eyes. "Like I said, I'm so hungry. How long was I out?"

"Well, you were out cold for almost five days. You woke up yesterday but, uh, not sure how much you remember. You were pretty out of it." The image of the giant isopod crept into Dean's consciousness and he shuddered. _I hope you don't remember it!_

"Uhh, I remember bits and piec—" he stopped mid-sentence, staring at his half-full bowl in horror. Centipedes, ticks, worms, and too-green eyeballs writhed in the ceramic in a pool of churning pus. Recalling Dean's advice, he dropped the box and made a deliberate move to press his wrapped hand. The tension eased on his face.

"What, what do you see?" Dean asked casually. _C'mon, let me in, Sammy._

"Nothing." He paused and Dean gave him an intense look. "Wouldn't wanna ruin your appetite," he replied and smiled weakly. His hand was unsteady as he poured the milk.

Dean was getting impatient. "You gotta tell me what's going on, what crazy crap you're seeing. That way I can tell you what's real."

"It's fine, Dean," he insisted. But Dean didn't miss Sam's hesitation before he put the spoon in his mouth, or the grimace on his face once he did.

* * *

A loud bang caught Dean's attention and he opened the bathroom door enough to hear Sam spit out "No, you don't get to touch me ever again, you fucking pervert." _Pervert?_ Dean thought, confused. His eyes went to a fork embedded in the table. This was getting to be too much. Dean moved to rescue his brother but the anger in his voice made him freeze. "She didn't just die. You killed her. You killed her because of your little pissing match with God and Michael. Because big, bad Lucifer couldn't bear to be wrong." _Mom? Are you talking about mom with Lucifer?_ Dean watched as Sam listened attentively to his invisible companion and then started to tremble. He wrapped his arms around himself and bowed his head, looking so small for such a giant. After a few moments, he jolted and snapped his head up, staring evenly across the table. Sweat started to glisten on his skin and he was clenching the edge of the table.

"Right. Ever the humanitarian." Dean could only wonder at the other half of the conversation. "You break it, you buy it," Sam retorted, quickly followed by "It's a figure of speech, you fucktard. Oh, wait, I forgot, angels know nothing about human culture despite being explicitly instructed by God to serve and protect them!" Again anger surged in Sam's voice. "You twisted a human soul into the first demon. You probably have had more interaction with humans than every other angel. For not liking humans, you spend an awful lot of time with them! You spent 180 years with me." Dean shuddered; he had only survived thirty years before breaking. "What other angel has done that?" Sam challenged. _What the hell are they talking about?!_ Whatever it was, it had Sam recoiling in horror. "Are you—are you saying, you're—" _What Sam? Finish your goddamn sentence!_ _I can't help you if I don't know what's happening!_ "You're lying!" _He's the fucking devil, Sammy. It's kind of what he does._ Sam half rose out of his seat as his temper flared. "Yeah, because you took it! You took it when you tortured me for decades. No one is supposed to endure that kind of suffering! You shredded my soul, so don't expect me to be too shocked if you didn't glue all the scraps back together!"

Dean closed his eyes. _Sam. God, Sam, what have I done to you?_ Crushing guilt made his body feel heavy and he struggled to remain standing. "That's not true. I've saved thousands of lives. And you had no role in that." Dean wished more than anything he was privy to this conversation, because the half he was hearing was impossible to follow. "That wasn't my fault." _You tell him, Sam!_ "This isn't Dean's fault either! Regardless, you would have found some other way out." Dean was heartened to hear Sam defending him but he knew he wasn't entirely innocent. Depending on what Lucifer was accusing him of, the devil could be right. "But Azazel created many psychics—" _Azazel?! Can't Satan stick to one goddamn topic?_ "Well, A+ on your organizational skills, but it still failed. You failed." _Tell him, Sam._ "Never. Over my dead body are you setting foot outside the cage ever again." Dean suppressed a scoff. _Like that will ever happen._

Suddenly Sam leaned forward as if hypnotized, then snapped himself out of it. He bowed his head into his fists. His voice came out in a tight angry shout. "You manipulated me to feel that way. You made me feel different and alone, my whole life. Made me a stranger in my own family. You made me a freak." Dean again closed his eyes, wishing he could shut out these words as much as he could shut out the heartbreaking sight before him. _Sam, no…_ "You did this to me. You made it so that I would feel one with you because you knew you'd never convince me otherwise. You rigged the game and preyed on my weakness, a weakness you embedded in me in the first place!" The agony in his voice tore at Dean's heart. "I want nothing to do with you. I didn't then, I don't now. You can take your god act and shove it up your holier-than-thou fallen archangel ass." Dean smiled faintly at Sam's defiance but frowned when he heard Sam's sharp intake of breath. "Enough!" The harsh sound of shattering glass jolted Dean into open-eyed awareness. He had to stop this before Sam hurt himself.

* * *

Sam picked at the omelet Bobby had made. He appreciated the fresh veggies the older man had thoughtfully prepared, but couldn't bring himself to finish it. He had made a show of eating it while Bobby and Dean were watching, but now he was alone. _Well, as alone as I can be…_ he thought, glancing at his companion. His stomach churned as Lucifer leered at him across the table. "What, am I disturbing your delicate constitution? Or does little Sammy Winchester need someone to fly the food into his mouth?" He mocked the parental motion, accompanying it with sounds of explosions as he neared Sam's face. Sam steeled himself and tried to eat to spite Lucifer. The texture became slimy and disconcerting. He almost gagged swallowing it. "And here I thought I got rid of your gag reflex!" Lucifer commented, seemingly surprised. He rubbed at himself seductively and what little of Sam's appetite had remained instantly evaporated. "If you're hungry for something else…" the devil offered, smiling. "Don't you remember all the fun we had? Surely you miss me." He smiled innocently at Sam and batted his eyelashes.

"Get the hell away from me," Sam growled, repulsed by his own skin as memories flooded his awareness.

"But, Sammy, we had it so good. You were screaming, I was happy…" Lucifer looked wistfully into the distance. He sighed then refocused his attention on Sam. "Though, I bet if we tried, we could recreate our little paradise here." Lucifer reached out towards Sam.

His reaction was visceral, one of pure fear and self-defense. Fork in hand, he slammed it down on Lucifer's hand to pin him to the table. "No, you don't get to touch me ever again, you fucking pervert."

Lucifer feigned offense as he removed the fork and put it calmly on Sam's plate. "Now that was rude. I would have thought your mother taught you better manners. Oh, wait, she couldn't, because she died! Ha!" He smiled smugly as Sam bristled with outrage.

"She didn't just die. You killed her. You killed her because of your little pissing match with God and Michael. Because big, bad Lucifer couldn't bear to be wrong."

"I don't have to bear it, because I'm not wrong," Lucifer replied defensively. "I've never been wrong, Sam, and you know it. You know it." Lucifer held Sam's gaze briefly and a powerful wave of righteousness surged over Sam. The same sensation as when he said 'yes', when he accepted the devil into his body. The vitriolic anger of Lucifer's betrayal had coursed through him and consumed him. He remembered being shocked because Lucifer was so calm while in Nick's vessel. The demeanor of Lucifer-as-Nick was so gentle; to think he was filled with such rage was impossible to imagine. Sam wasn't sure what being possessed by an archangel was going to be like, but it wasn't this. Chained to a comet didn't start to describe it. It was more comparable to being a wispy thin layer of plastic wrap around the Big Bang. Instantly obliterated, disintegrated, destroyed, but present and absolutely powerless to contain the sheer force and energy exploding outward that would change the face of all creation.

Lucifer cleared his throat and Sam was instantly alert. That sound meant Lucifer was getting impatient, and he knew better than to keep the angel waiting. He had learned the hard way. He realized he had curled in on himself, the memory of Lucifer's agonizing presence physically crushing him. He returned his gaze to his hallucination, attentive despite knowing his companion was not real. Knowing and believing are two very different things, and Sam Winchester was only guilty of the former. Lucifer toyed with his lower lip, watching contentedly as Sam became increasingly agitated. Whenever Lucifer took this long to attack him, it meant he was thinking up something so extraordinary that the subsequent torture would feel like a massage. Lucifer arched an eyebrow and smirked. It was almost too easy to rattle Sam. "I miss the fight, Sam. Where's that spunky human attitude? You had it a week ago. Did that Leviathan knock it loose with the crowbar or something? I'm sure I could find it if I spelunked through that rat's nest of a brain long enough. Done it before, can do it again," he sighed, as if bored with the idea. "What do you think, Sammy? I'll do it for you." He smiled amiably.

Sam scoffed. "Right. Ever the humanitarian."

Lucifer nodded vigorously. "Yeah, that one, right there. Think you could muster that up for me? No fun playing with a soggy ragdoll."

"You break it, you buy it," Sam spat.

"So you admit I broke you?" The grin on the archangel's face was malicious and gleeful.

Sam's jaw clenched. "It's a figure of speech, you fucktard. Oh, wait, I forgot, angels know nothing about human culture despite being explicitly instructed by God to serve and protect them!"

Lucifer held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I've been downstairs for most of the time. I may be guilty of a thing or two, but I never got the chance to dive into human culture. Not that I wanted to, anyway," he added almost under his breath.

"You twisted a human soul into the first demon. You probably have had more interaction with humans than every other angel," Sam accused. "For not liking humans, you spend an awful lot of time with them! You spent 180 years with me. What angel has done that, huh?"

Lucifer's smile became sly. "You did afford me a very special gift, Sammy. How generous of you to give of yourself so willingly, to be an angel's plaything while I learned every weakness of a righteous soul. It's true, no other angel has knit itself into a human's soul. All that time we spent together, me rebuilding you over and over… I got to upgrade the model a little bit." He winked then crossed his arms as realization spread on Sam's face.

"Are you—are you saying, you're—" Sam sputtered, unable to continue.

"I'm _in you_ , Sam. You let me in and I never completely left. You are my true vessel and once we were joined—not even the big G himself can tear us apart. Why else would you be so important? You are my link to the outside universe. Through you I will once again escape the cage. Inevitably, you will set me free."

"You're lying," Sam gasped.

Lucifer sighed with exasperation. "Told you before, and I'll tell you again. I don't need to lie, Sam. I know you feel it, too. Part of you is missing." He looked compassionate and this suddenly enraged Sam.

"Yeah, because you took it!" He jabbed an angry finger at Satan. "You took it when you tortured me for decades. No one is supposed to endure that kind of suffering! You shredded my soul, so don't expect me to be too shocked if you didn't glue all the scraps back together!" Sam's voice escalated to a shout towards the end.

"No, the part you're missing is me," Lucifer explained calmly. "You're like the border pieces of a puzzle. You define the puzzle but don't add much to it besides form. Me, I'm the point, I'm the picture, the aesthetic worth working so hard to assemble. Sure, without you, it's much more difficult. But without me, it's pointless. Without me, you're pointless, Sam."

Sam's face twitched with anger and disgust. "That's not true," he hissed. "I've saved thousands of lives. And you had no role in that."

"And you've killed millions." Lucifer shrugged. "I know you're not brilliant Sam, but surely even you can do that math."

"That wasn't my fault."

Lucifer nodded and ran a finger over his lips. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. But if Dean hadn't brought you back, if he hadn't tried so hard to save you all those countless times, would the Apocalypse have happened?"

"This isn't Dean's fault either! Regardless, you would have found some other way out."

The devil shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But I could only do it with you. It had to be you."

"But Azazel created many psychics—"

Lucifer waved his hand dismissively. "Azazel was a moron. Obedient, but a moron all the same. Demons. So eager to please." He rolled his eyes. "It always had to be you. Couldn't have the lower downs know that, of course."

"Well, A+ on your organizational skills, but it still failed. You failed."

"Wouldn't be so sure about that, Sammy. You still got a lot of years left to live, plenty of chances to let me out again."

"Never. Over my dead body are you setting foot outside the cage ever again."

"I can arrange that! No problem-o." Lucifer smiled affably. "Sam," he drawled out the syllable, urging the young hunter to believe him. "C'mon, don't tell me you really thought you were done with me?" He turned on the charisma and Sam felt the draw. "Remember, I felt what you felt. I know how you feel about me, Sammy." Golden light emanated from his skin and Sam bit back the surge of wonder that rose against his will. Lucifer may be an archangel, God's favorite, but it didn't excuse his actions.

Sam closed his eyes and clenched his fists, bringing them to his temples. "You manipulated me to feel that way. You made me feel different and alone, my whole life. Made me a stranger in my own family. You made me a freak." He brought his head up to glare at the entity responsible for so much suffering in his life. "You did this to me. You made it so that I would feel one with you because you knew you'd never convince me otherwise. You rigged the game and preyed on my weakness, a weakness you embedded in me in the first place!" Sam's voice wavered between a yell and total oblivion.

Lucifer chewed on his lip as he listened to Sam's outburst, the emotion seeming to barely register. "It's not a weakness, Sam. It's an incredible gift. To be able to host an archangel? We could have been gods, you and I."

"I want nothing to do with you. I didn't then, I don't now. You can take your god act and shove it up your holier-than-thou fallen archangel ass."

Lucifer smiled. "Only if it's your ass." He laughed at the immediate discomfort visible in Sam's tensed body. "Hmm, self-sodomy. You think that's a thing? I suppose we could make it a thing… Might take some experimentation. Can an archangel enter its vessel through—"  
"Enough!" Sam shouted. He snatched his glass and threw it at the twisted angel, who teleported out of view. It shattered against the now empty chair. Lucifer's laugh echoed in his mind and he brought his hands to his head, wishing he could drown out the maddening sound. Yet he knew that nothing short of death would free him from this torment.

The squeak of the bathroom door caught his attention and he turned to see Dean, wide-eyed, staring at him. Shame flushed his cheeks as he realized Dean had overheard the entire thing. He stood up abruptly and hurried over to start picking up the broken pieces littering the chair and the floor.

"Sam," Dean hesitated, unsure how to proceed. He hobbled over on the crutches, careful to be quiet as to not further fluster his brother. "What—what was he saying to you?"

Sam paused, running through his possible responses. "You wanna know what Lucifer was saying, really?" he asked dubiously.

"I only heard half the conversation…"

Sam winced inwardly. This was mortifying. It was bad enough that he felt compelled to interact with his hallucination. It was worse to have someone else bear witness to it. He looked up at Dean, whose eager face brimmed with sympathy. He struggled to compose himself, hiding the effort with a helpless shrug. "Just the usual. Explaining how I can't get rid of him. That he's with me forever." Dean waited for Sam to continue but he offered nothing more. He absent-mindedly massaged his hand and that seemed to calm him.

"You know that's not true, right?"

"I know, Dean, but you're not there. You don't know what it's like."

"I wish I could understand, I really do. And that's why I need you to talk to me, tell me what's going on. What about all that other stuff? Mom? Azazel?"

"Bullshit he spews to try and confuse me." His shoulders sagged listlessly. "I don't even know what's true anymore… He claims he's always had control over my life because I was destined for him. And that I'll let him out again one day."

"Like you said: that's never gonna happen."

Sam nodded, vindication edging around his demeanor. "I know. I'd rather die than release him again."

"Don't say that," Dean urged.

Sam's face hardened. "What? It's true," he replied evenly, daring Dean to contradict him.

Dean swallowed against the discomfort in his throat. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then continued. "Do you really feel like you didn't belong in our family?"

Sam's nostrils flared as he considered the question. He looked away from Dean. "Isn't it pretty obvious? I don't. I'm the freak with the demon blood, Satan's vessel. You guys are all hunters. Me? I'm the thing to be hunted."

"No, Sam, that's not true."

"Uh, last I checked, I started the Apocalypse…"

Dean sighed in annoyance. "Yes, you did, but don't forget I helped out pretty majorly with that, too. We haven't always seen eye to eye, but you are a part of this family. Always have been, always will be, whether you like it or not. And you haven't always liked it, I know, but dammit Sam, you are my brother and nothing will ever change that." The vehemence in Dean's voice cleared some of the residual haze in Sam's mind. He rolled his lips into his mouth as he stole a glance at Dean. It was near impossible not to believe Dean when he got this way. Even injured, his stance was wide, his body puffed up with defiance as he challenged Sam to disagree with him. He knew he would be unwise to do so. He suppressed that nagging voice that doubted everything about everyone every day and nodded in acquiescence. "We good now?" Dean's voice softened fractionally.

"Yeah, we're good," Sam replied, actually feeling a bit better.

"Good. I'm gonna pop in the shower. If you hear a loud crash, only get me if you hear me shout. Wouldn't want to scar your virgin eyes," Dean joked, grinning at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled, but had to discretely press his fingers to his palm to banish Lucifer's pithy comments about Sam in no way being a virgin, especially not after Lucifer had finished with him.

* * *

While Dean was showering, Sam made his move. If Dean really wanted to help, he'd have to understand what Sam was going through. An easy, safe way to do that was with dream root. He found an online retailer and ordered some to be express shipped to the local FedEx office for in-store pick-up. He'd figure out how to get it from there later. Surely Bobby would let him borrow the car? He frowned, weighing his chances. He'd probably have to take Dean along as a baby sitter. He shrugged. That probably wasn't the worst idea. Who knows what other shit Lucifer would try to pull. He shook his head, discouraging himself from that line of thought. He started reading the news to catch up on what was going on the world. Unconsciously, he was looking for signs of the Leviathan infiltration. He calmed as he found only the usual human chaos. He soon found it difficult to keep his eyes open and surrendered to sleep.

* * *

Bobby entered the cabin to see Dean awkwardly moving the armchair towards the couch. "What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna be there while he sleeps, when he wakes up, whenever he needs me. Lucifer can't have him. He was my brother first!" Dean pushed the chair up towards the head of the couch and dropped into it. It would be the first of many vigils.

Dean allowed himself to drop off into a light sleep periodically. Like a cat, an eye popped open whenever he heard Sam shift, ready to wake him and rescue him from Lucifer. Dean knew from experience that waking from Hell-induced nightmares was particularly difficult. He recalled many nights Sam had woken him by shaking, water to the face, or a strategically placed gunshot by the ear when Dean was really trapped. It had gotten better for him over the years. He hoped he could say the same for Sam. Were he to be truthful with himself, Dean doubted any amount of time could heal those wounds. What had Cas said? That when he touched his soul, it felt like it had been skinned alive? He pushed his breath through pursed lips and tried to expel the memory. The soft breeze made Sam's nose twitch and he smiled at the unconscious response. All he had ever wanted to do was protect Sam from the supernatural. Instead he had allowed him to jump, of his own volition, into the worst place in the universe. Bobby was right. Nothing could change that now. He just had to defend Sam at all costs.

* * *

Sam laid on the couch, idly flicking through the channels in search of something to distract his mind. He had slept for a few hours but didn't feel any better. He'd woken up out of a particularly fire-filled round of torture and into Dean's frantic worry. Dean had forced him to take some Tylenol to bring down his fever. Sam knew he wasn't actually sick, but did so to appease Dean. He just felt so tired. He was getting plenty of sleep but it wasn't _restful_ sleep. The more tired he got, the easier for Lucifer to pierce his defenses. He supposed that was the point. He sighed quietly, hoping not to catch Dean's attention. He was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled almost rancid. Sam breathed through his mouth and focused on the TV.

The screen currently showed some crazy cooking show. The host was discussing how best to roast an entire pig. "Before the break, we showed you that the pit method is the easiest and most fool-proof way. Now let's see the results of our hard work!" Four men took turns shoveling loose dirt out of a pit, finally revealing an aluminum foil-wrapped mass. Using metal pipes as levers, they lifted the pig out of the hole and rolled it onto the ground. They rubbed their hands together in anticipation. Sam watched with subtle curiosity as two of the men carefully peeled away the foil and burned banana leaves. The last strip down the carcass was removed and horror filled Sam. It was not a pig, but Sam's body. One of the men knelt down with a knife and cut away a rib.

"Now this is where it's at!" The camera panned up and it was Lucifer, smiling. He took a bite of the rib, out of Sam, and released a moan of satisfaction. "Absolute perfection," he mumbled through a full mouth. "All that demon blood adds just the right amount of spice," he commented to the other man, who stepped into view. Yellow eyes shone vividly.

"Don't just talk about it, hand some over!"

"Any part in particular?" Lucifer asked cordially.

Azazel paused a moment, then nodded. "Lengua, please."

Lucifer smiled and moved up to Sam's head. He forced open his jaw and Sam cringed as he heard the tissue rip and the bones crunch. Azazel handed Lucifer a pair of tongs. He grabbed Sam's tongue and tried to pull it straight out, but was met with resistance. He wrenched the stubborn muscle back and forth until it broke free, juices dripping from the shredded end. Azazel speared it with a fork and brought it to his mouth. He bit into the chewy tissue and smiled as he struggled to free a piece. Succeeding, he sucked on the chunk and a visible shudder of delight shivered his body. "Just how I remember it," Azazel praised.

Lucifer grinned with satisfaction. Looking into the camera, he nodded thoughtfully. "There's another singular part that is rather good, though a bit taboo to some…" Lucifer glanced down and the camera followed his gaze to Sam's groin.

Sam scrambled for the remote and was relieved when the image blinked out of view. He rested his head back against the armrest. Sleep, he just wanted a good night's sleep… He sighed heavily, knowing that wasn't in his future.

Dean heard his sigh. "Anything I can get for you, Sam? A beer? Something to eat?"

"Is what you're making even edible?" Sam complained, the smell burning his nose.

"It's not that bad, is it?" Dean sniffed the air. "Was trying to make fish and chips. Okay, maybe I went a little overboard on the vinegar…"

Sam scrunched his brow in confusion. "Isn't that usually deep fried?"

"Jeez, Chef Ramsay. I'm doing what I can here, okay? You want some or not?"

Sam put his hands up in submission. "Sure, I'll try some."

Dean clanked around the kitchen for a few minutes while Sam watched him with a slight smile. Dean being domestic. The thought was ridiculous.

Dean limped over to Sam balancing two plates in his un-crutched arm. Sam gratefully accepted the plate, his hunger making the previously-offensive odor tantalizing. "Thanks, Dean." He looked down at the hunk of fish and immediately noticed a strange pattern in the scales. He brought it closer to his face and nearly dropped it as he realized the pattern was what remained of an anti-possession symbol. He reluctantly prodded the chunk of meat with his fork. His stomach twisted as he saw it was not fish, but the flesh of a mammal. Human flesh. His flesh. He put the plate down forcefully and tried to calm his nerves.

"You haven't even had any yet. Did I fuck it up that much?" Dean asked through a mouthful, just like Lucifer. Sam's stomach tumbled.

"No, I, uh, just lost my appetite for a second…"

"Luc—" Dean paused to swallow his bite—a bite of Sam's meat—"—ifer?"

Sam nodded imperceptibly, fighting the bile rising up his throat. "I think I just need more sleep and I'll feel better," Sam said, half-hoping, half-lying.

"Then go to bed."

"Sleep isn't really working out for me, Dean."

"How about some Benadryl? Take four of those and you should be out like a light!" Dean offered.

Sam pondered it briefly then agreed. "Sure." Anything that might help him get some goddam rest.

* * *

Chemical- and nightmare-induced exhaustion tugged at Sam's eyelids. He wanted more than anything to pass out. But Lucifer was there, babbling aimlessly. Sam wasn't even hearing the words, but his voice alone kept him on edge, pushing away sleep just enough to prevent his release from awareness. Lucifer quieted for a moment, but when he spoke up, his voice was much closer, causing Sam to open his eyes into an alert state.

"I have to say, all this talk about the good ol' days has made me nostalgic. What do you say we take a trip down memory lane?" He reached out to touch Sam's temple. His victim recoiled as much as he could but it was pointless. The cold fingers made contact with sweaty skin and Sam was no longer conscious.

* * *

Falling. Screaming. The hiss of air rushing around him, robbing his lungs of the oxygen he so desperately needed. Adam, he could see Adam— no, it was Michael —falling with him, with them. Lucifer tore furiously at his mind, willing himself to take control. A spindle of light burst from Adam's body and rocketed towards the sky. Instinctively he knew it was Adam's soul. Michael had saved him. Sam knew he would not be so lucky. Lucifer's grip on his soul was suffocating. He saw the earthlight disappear as the hole closed up and he gave in. Lucifer trampled him in his attempt to stop their descent. Massive golden wings burst forth and fought the magical pull of the cage. Michael had the same idea. Sam watched with panic as the other archangel's bluish wings began to smoke and char. Feathers sloughed off as the wings disintegrated, lost in the murky blackness that was rapidly consuming them. It was only with Lucifer's cries of anguish that Sam realized the same thing was happening to Lucifer. And as the pain hit him, he understood it was happening to him, too. They were still one, falling and burning together, both cursed by their actions. He looked down and saw the cage amidst the violent flashes of lightning raging around them. It seemed small. Too small to hold an archangel, never mind two. Dread filled both angel and vessel as they plummeted towards their new home. A trail of luminescent grace marked their path and Sam could feel the angelic essence ebbing from Lucifer, his once glorious wings reduced to a smattering of shrapnel protruding from his back. Profound grief penetrated Sam's fear and he actually felt a surge of empathy for the fallen angel. He had a moment of lucidity as he felt Lucifer cling to him. The sensation was harshly interrupted as they crossed the threshold of the cage. A hundred thousand blades sliced into him, peeling the archangel from his being. They both screamed as they were torn from one another, desperately holding on to the only familiar entity in this alien realm. Sam watched helplessly as the brilliant light of Lucifer's true form drifted away from him. He was so distracted by the transcendent glow he didn't realize his fall was coming to an end until countless spikes impaled his broken body and everything went black.

* * *

Sensation returned to him slowly, trickling in like a dripping tap. Fragments of sound reached his ears and he forced himself to open his eyes. He expected to see the cage looming above him but instead saw nothing. Looking down, there was nothing beneath him. Was he still falling? Was the cage perpetual falling? He didn't feel like he was still in motion—but then again, his brain bizarrely reminded him, pilots in a long enough turn lose the sensation that they're turning because the pressure in their ears equalizes. They're still turning but they think they're not, sometimes dooming themselves to a death spiral into the ground. Maybe he would just be eternally falling, his body's attempt at equilibrium pointless and so he felt like he was still. Who's to say physics even worked in the cage? He shook his head, dismissing all these ridiculous thoughts. He concentrated on getting vertical and was somehow able to push himself up to standing, an effort which earned him a wave of sharp pain drilling into his hands. Continuous sound filtered back in and he recognized it as that ear-piercing whine, the unnerving squeal of an angel's voice. He moved towards the noise and found himself not only able to tolerate it, but more unexpectedly, understand it.

It was Lucifer, begging.

"Father! I don't understand! Is this not what You wanted? Were we not supposed to fight upon the chosen field, a battle to prove who was right? If not, why didn't You just kill me? Why imprison me for eternity? I've done what I thought was right, what I believed in. And now I'm thrown back into the pit, for what purpose? I don't understand." He paused, and the bright light flickered momentarily. "What do You want?!" Lucifer yelled. "Why did You deny me again?" A wave of rage emanating from the desperate angel surged over Sam.

Another indescribably bright light joined Lucifer's. "Because we must conclude that free will really does exist, little brother," Michael said, but his voice was more like a crack of thunder rolling through Sam. "I, too, am surprised. I thought the world fated, I thought for sure this was one of Father's tests and that He would return once the battle was won."

"No doubt, you believed you'd be victorious!" Lucifer snapped.

"Of course, Lucifer. That was our destiny."

"Your destiny!" he retorted. "I do not deserve to die, nor do I deserve to be here."

"Yes, you do. You betrayed us and this is your punishment, as handed down by our Father. It is I who should not be trapped here with you. But, I suppose the Winchesters have made fools of us both."

"Winchester!" Lucifer snarled, the word felt more than pronounced. Sam sensed the light focus on him as uncontrollable anger engulfed him. " _You_ did this to me!" he exploded. The light overcame him and Sam felt himself atomized. He had no time to recognize his non-existence before he was put back together. He blinked his eyes open as a strong hand sealed around his neck. Lucifer had taken on Nick's visage, though his eyes shone with an eerie red glow. "Sam Winchester. You will suffer for all of eternity for this injustice. You will never again know peace, not through joy or through death." Lucifer snapped his neck, rending his head from his body. Instantly, he was restored. "We had a deal, Sam!" He tore out the human's heart, not even waiting for Sam to die to renew him. "One round!" Manifesting his angel blade, he sliced his captive in half. "No tricks!" he roared. He stabbed him through the eye. "I won!" he screamed. "I won and you betrayed me!" He ripped Sam limb from limb, his fury unappeased. "You lied! You tricked me! And for that you will pay with your life trillions of times over!" He crushed his chest and blood flooded Sam's lungs, his dying coughs spraying Lucifer as he prepared his next attack.

And so Lucifer's murderous rampage continued for the next six months, until he bored of killing his wayward vessel every couple of seconds, and decided that drawn-out torture would be much more satisfying.


	7. Day 7

A/N: Pushed myself to finish this before I left for vacation.

I am a bit worried that the beginning of this chapter may seem out of character for Sam, but I'd like to explain my creative license. If you're not interested, then skip down to story.

Thank you to sammysmissingshoe, rozzy07, venusgirl, Cammie, and lizzybomb for their Day 6 reviews. You spoil me with your praise. I'm so glad other people enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!

Lots of limp/hurt!Sam this chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

I've spent a lot of time thinking about Lucifer and Sam's relationship, as it has a lot of personal meaning for me. I think it's important to note that when Lucifer first approached Sam, he was quite gentle, and very open about the need for consent. Compare this to Zachariah who tried to force Dean into saying 'yes' by any means necessary, mostly violence and trickery. I believe Lucifer is telling the truth (as opposed to just screwing with Sam) when he urges Sam to acknowledge the exhilaration and feelings of oneness in Swan Song after Sam says 'yes'. They were two halves made whole, for what Sam saw as an evil purpose, but still one, regardless. I think Lucifer turned on Sam once he jumped into the cage, but those initial feelings would still resonate with Sam. Hence this chapter, which I see as an unconventional take on Sam's hallucinations, but equally valid as the cruel Hallucifer.

Sorry for rambling. Let me know what you think of this. Always interesting to hear other fans' interpretations. Feel free to PM if you want it to be a conversation! I seriously love discussing Lucifer's varied roles in SPN because it doesn't get enough attention!

* * *

.

* * *

 **Day 7**

Sam woke with a violent start, his mind reeling from reliving so much time in the cage and so many millions of deaths. He cried out for Dean but his throat produced no sound. He gripped the sheets and begged his body not to implode. Instead it shivered and Sam realized the fabric was soaking wet. Patting his body, everything was cold and damp. He sat up and saw Dean's slumped outline asleep in a chair next to his cot. He opened his phone to check the time and nearly dropped it when the light illuminated a trail of blood down Dean's face. Straining his eyes in the dim light, Sam saw the blood was from a single bullet hole in his brother's temple.

"No, no, no," Sam murmured, throwing off the drenched sheet. He saw the gun still tangled in Dean's fingers and Sam realized it was self-inflicted. "No, Dean, don't do this to me!" He turned a lamp on and looked back to Dean, who was now soundly sleeping. Sam swallowed and clamped his eyes shut, willing Dean to still be alive when he reopened them. He took a deep breath and snapped open his eyelids. Lucifer was inches from his face and he flinched so forcibly he fell back onto the cot.

Lucifer moved next to him, his voice calm. "How was that? Bet you had forgotten those first six months, huh?" Sam said nothing, using all his energy to suppress those memories and the concomitant scream desperate to escape his soul. "C'mon, Sam, let's talk. I promise I'll leave Dean alone. And I won't bring all that up again." Sam nodded and rose, quietly sliding past his sleeping sibling. He made his way shakily to the door, his body unable to coordinate its movements after so much remembered destruction. He closed the door silently and collapsed on the porch, at least grateful to be outside where he wouldn't bother Dean or Bobby. It was a small mercy.

* * *

Lucifer wasn't always cruel; in fact these were the times Sam hated the most. The devil could be oddly compassionate. He had once cared about his vessel, though whether any of that sympathy remained, Sam doubted with his entire being. A heavy sigh drew his attention back to his companion.

"I waited for you for so long," Lucifer continued quietly, sitting next to him on the steps. Their breaths drew tiny patches of fog in the cold night air. A sad smile spread on his lips. "I wanted so much for you to accept me, like I accepted you. And finally you did, and I thought we would be one together. My perfect form in your perfect body. We would make things right. Restore balance to Creation. We would have protected my Father's beautiful work."

The reverence in his tone as he spoke about Creation reminded Sam of his more peculiar times in Hell. Sometimes, in a seemingly good mood, Lucifer would allow Sam into his own mind. The experience itself was a form of torture, he supposed. Nothing could prepare him for the alien nature of Lucifer's consciousness in its unfiltered grandeur. The first time it happened, he understood why Lucifer was God's favorite. In his uncorrupted glory, he was the personification of pure, celestial magnificence. Golden wings illuminated by his impossibly bright true form cast light over all that existed. _Light bringer._ Sam had felt crushing guilt, worse than anything he had known while alive. Trapping this beautiful thing in Hell, in a cage that was surely too small to contain such an incredible presence. He, tiny Sam Winchester, had done this. Lucifer was wrong to demand the Apocalypse, but he had believed he was seeking justice. Sam understood his loyalty to God and his eventual disobedience. He himself had run away to Stanford, refusing his father's plan for him. He felt sorry for Lucifer, wished he could make him understand that fighting wasn't everything. Sometimes it was okay to be wrong.

"But you betrayed me." Lucifer would snap him out of his reverie with some new torture to punish him. Sam knew he deserved it. He had robbed the archangel of resolution with his family and instead condemned him to a renewed eternity of wallowing in loss, hate, and self-pity. He was too majestic for such simple, painful emotions and Sam felt the outrage keenly. He had doled out this harsh sentence and regret surged over him. Lucifer had trusted him in the beginning, so entirely. He had betrayed that trust, just like he had Dean's. Sam was the failure in this equation. Not Lucifer, not Dean, just himself. He let down everyone, even the devil. He'd been made for one purpose and he had ruined that too.

A firm grasp on his shoulder recalled him from his thoughts. He heard weeping and slowly became alert. What happened? What was wrong? Too late, he realized the sounds were his as Dean lifted his chin, searching his little brother's face for any hint of recognition.

"What's wrong, Sammy? Come back to me, man. Sam?"

Sam cleared his throat and wiped the tears and snot away from his face. "I'm here," he managed, though the image of Lucifer's wings shining over the garden of Eden gleamed distractingly bright in his mind.

"What did you see?" Dean implored. "You can tell me." The unbridled sympathy in his voice reminded him of Lucifer's occasional bouts of pseudo-comfort and the sobs tore from his throat anew. Dean sat on the step above Sam and gathered him into an embrace, rocking him gently. "It's okay, Sammy, I got you, it's okay," he murmured into Sam's damp, messy hair.

"I did it, Dean," he blurted out, guilt clawing at his throat.

"What, Sam?"

"I did it. Put Lucifer back in his cage."

"Yes, you did! So proud of you." Sam abruptly pulled away from him and Dean was confused. "Sam?" His brother's face was painted with an emotion Dean could barely recognize, except maybe as soul-splitting horror.

"I—I doomed him. How could I do that?"

"Lucifer?!" Dean said incredulously.

Sam nodded, the tears on his chin flicking off his face. Fresh ones soon replaced them. "I trapped him in the cage."

"That was kind of the whole point, dude." Dean couldn't understand the air of defeat hanging over Sam.

"He's so beautiful, Dean. I—" a painful sob caught in his throat and he gasped for air. "He believed in me and I failed him, like I failed you, so many times. It's all I do. I deserve to be punished. I'm the least of anyone."

Dean slapped him across the cheek, but it had the opposite effect of his intention: instead of snapping Sam out of it, it elicited another round of shaking from Sam. Dean was at a loss for words. This was a new one. He'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Sam gone, only to hear his brother weeping outside. Never in a million years did he think Sam would shed a tear of grief for Lucifer. "Sam, stop this. He hurt you beyond comprehension. He doesn't deserve any of this!"

"No!" Sam wailed, fighting Dean's grip. "Me! I did this. I could have restored him to his glory, his radiance, and I took it from him. I took your lives from both of you, and for what? For you both to go to Hell?"

"So did you!" Dean reminded him.

"I belong there," he said plainly. Quietly he added "I belong with Lucifer."

 _How had it gotten so bad that Sam felt this way?_ "No, Sam. You don't. You're here. Where you should be."

"No, no, I need to be with Lucifer. He knows me, loves me."

Fire surged inside Dean. _Love? Talk about fucking Stockholm Syndrome!_ "He doesn't love you, Sam. How could you think that? He tortured you for decades. That's not love, that's hate. Pure, unadulterated hate."

"I earned it. He waited for me for eons and I betrayed him. He has every right to punish me." Dean felt like ripping the hair from his head. Nightmares of torture and Sam's screaming he could just about deal with. Sam mourning the loss of Lucifer, what the hell was he supposed to do with this?! "We were one. Blissful. But, then, I saw it, I saw you, knew you needed to be saved." A bizarre feeling of guilt came over Dean. He was the reason Sam had jumped, had torn himself from this unholy union. He shook his entire body, banishing the revolting sensation from his bones. "I loved you more than him and he couldn't stand it. The one being made to know and understand him let him down." Sam laughed despite his obvious despair. "Guess I'm really good at that!"

Dean understood now. It wasn't so much that he loved Lucifer, but felt he had disappointed him. And Sam thought his whole life was a disappointment. Of course Lucifer would have tapped into this conviction and twisted it to suit his needs. Dean hung his head. He felt powerless against Lucifer, both real and imagined. Sam was at his mercy, despite his words of defiance and the charade of having things under control. The devil was ingrained in his soul. Nothing would wash out that stain, especially when Sam didn't see it that way. "What did you see?" Dean whispered, trying to comprehend what had brought this on.

"Light. Overwhelming, consuming light. His wings... made from the thread of Creation itself. He's the Morning Star, Light Bringer." Sam trembled, overtaken by his memory. He reached out and grabbed Dean's shirt, pulling him tight. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Luci," Dean went rigid at the nickname but forced himself to stay with Sam. Whatever crazy shit Sam had to work out, he wouldn't do it alone. "I'm sorry, Dean." He felt his heart jump at his name. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I'm sorry, dad. I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry, Ellen. I'm sorry, Jo."

He continued through a litany of everyone he knew, everyone he felt he had failed. Dean held him tighter and waited it out, tears forming in his own eyes. No wonder Sam thought he deserved Hell. The list was seemingly endless. Dean half-expected every losing sports team and flopped movie to make an appearance. Sam's voice devolved into incomprehensible gurgles and Dean continued to hold him. The sun loomed under the horizon, casting faint light upon the world. Dean had never felt so small. He felt like he was keeping the pieces of his brother together. His body ached for release but he was afraid to move, loathe to disturb Sam. The comforting sound of Dean's heartbeat had drawn Sam into an exhausted sleep, but he still gripped Dean's shirt like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. For all Dean knew, that could be the truth of the matter.

 _Light bringer_ , Dean mused as the sun rose. Comprehension crept around the edges of his mind. Lucifer, for all his faults, was still an angel. An archangel. Dean had only brushed up against these forces of nature. Sam had become one. Surely such an experience was bound to forever change him. But not break him. Death had said the soul could be bludgeoned and tortured, but never broken. Sam would recover. He had to. Dean couldn't live with anything else.

* * *

Bobby woke to find both of the beds empty. He thought perhaps he had just overslept but realized the sun was still low in the sky. The cabin was eerily silent. He quietly rose from the bed and surveyed the room, checking for any signs of the brothers' whereabouts. Seeing none, he went to the door and cracked it open. Relief flooded him as he saw them on the steps. "Sam? Dean?" he called. No response. Bobby frowned. Had they fallen asleep out here? He went over and tapped Dean's shoulder.

"No, no, Sam, I gotcha…" Dean mumbled, his arms tightening around his brother. Bobby suddenly understood what had happened. Dean was practically cradling the larger man, Sam's head nestled against Dean's chest. Dean's head hung at a painful-looking angle. Bobby shook Dean more vigorously and he grumbled awake. He lifted his head and groaned as the overextended muscles rebelled against the movement. He shifted his equally stiff arms to rub his neck and registered Bobby's presence. "Hey, Bobby," he said sleepily, attempting a smile as blood flow returned to all corners of his body.

"Hey yourself. Any particular reason we're sleeping under the stars these days?"

Dean looked down at Sam and saw his little brother's fingers were still tightly wrapped in his shirt. He went to unfurl his fingers when he was struck by how cold Sam felt. He hurriedly tried to pry Sam's fingers off but they wouldn't move. "Something's wrong!" He shook Sam as Bobby felt for a pulse. It was faint but there.

"My God, he's freezing. How long you two been out here?"

Dean didn't bother answering as he directed Bobby towards Sam's feet. With Sam still clutching his shirt, he lifted Sam's shoulders and they awkwardly carried him inside, Dean trying his best to use a crutch while not dropping Sam. They deposited their precious cargo on the couch. Dean worked to free himself from Sam's grip as Bobby swaddled Sam in blankets. After some intense and creative maneuvers, Dean was able to slide the fabric out, but Sam's hands remained in their contorted arrangement. Dean filled two bowls with warm water and submerged the cold fingers. Upon closer inspection Sam's skin had a blue tinge. He felt Sam's wrist for a pulse but was unable to detect it under his own galloping heartbeat. He put his ear to Sam's chest and heard a struggling, unsteady beat. _We ever gonna catch a break?_ Dean thought angrily. "Should we put him in the tub?"

"That's probably the best bet…" Bobby hurried to the bathroom and turned on the spigot. "Let's just get him in here now," he called as he reentered the living room.

The two older men stripped Sam down to his boxers on the same couch they had just as awkwardly dressed him less than two days before. Red marks still covered Sam's skin. Dean braced himself for the short journey, forgoing the crutch. They somewhat unceremoniously dropped Sam into the rising water, yet were careful to cushion his head. Dean noticed with dismay that his skin looked even more pallid against the rust-ringed porcelain. He sighed and sat on the closed toilet. They watched the water submerge his body and as his normal color slowly returned, the silence became much less tense.

"He'll be okay, Dean," Bobby commented, reiterating what they both already knew about the current situation and doubted about Sam in general.

"When do we admit defeat?" Dean asked, his eyes still on Sam.

"What do you mean?" Bobby replied, disgruntled.

"I mean, when do we admit that Sam is too broken for us to handle? That we need to get him some help?"

"What exactly would that help look like?"

"I don't know, Bobby!" He stamped his good foot for emphasis. "I'm just saying, that if Sam continues like this, what we're doing isn't gonna cut it."

"Cut him some slack. He's been awake for less than 48 hours. I didn't see you going to the therapist every week when you came back from Hell."

"That was different, Bobby, and you know it," Dean snapped, irritated.

"I don't see how. You've both been to Hell, something no amount of meds or talking or drinking or hunting is gonna fix. So give Sam a chance to get his bearings. If it's not better in a week we'll figure something else out."

Dean gave Bobby an incredulous look. "Another week? I don't think we can survive another week of this!" He gestured aggressively towards Sam's still body.

"Dunno what other choice you've got, son. Five days, give him five more days. A week awake. Deal?"

Dean grumbled but nodded in acquiescence. "Fine. Five days. And then we find something, anything, to fix this."

Both hunters knew there was nothing that could fix Sam, but it was better to fight the impossible than accept the inevitable.

* * *

Unearthly cold permeated his flesh. Cold that made his soul shiver. He vaguely wondered if this was what absolute zero felt like, despite knowing logically it wouldn't feel like anything. It didn't matter: the laws of reality did not apply to the cage, as evidenced by the fact that his hands had been frozen solid with what felt like liquid nitrogen but agonizing sensation still flowed to his brain. Opening his eyes, he recognized the native landscape of the cage. When Lucifer wasn't projecting something to change his perception, the space inside the cage was a cold vacuum. There was no defined floor, as if he were suspended in the nothingness. The bars of the cage were made of darkness, absorbing the light shed by the chaotic lightning storm that raged perpetually outside. The first time Sam had experienced the bare cage, he understood why Lucifer was cold. The chill was the only thing he had known for the majority of his life. For him to have become the cold was not only understandable, but likely unavoidable.

Tendrils of frost curled around his toes and crawled up his leg, embedding thorns of agony deep in his flesh as it spread over his body. Lucifer never left him alone for too long, unable to resist inflicting a new torture on Sam's shredded soul. The coils of pain manifested into glass-like vines, from which iridescent buds unfurled into flowers with petals that shimmered like mirrors. Each tiny mirror reflected a memory. _"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back…"_ Jess burning on the ceiling. _"It means you're a monster…"_ Lives he ruthlessly snuffed out while soulless. _"Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were black…"_ Dean's battered face before Lucifer almost killed him. _"Sam, of course, is an abomination…"_ Mom burning on the ceiling, Azazel's yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. _"And you only feel right when you're sucking down more poison and more evil…"_

"Evil, Sam, that's what you are," that ever-present voice murmured in his ear, cool breath coinciding with a cool touch on his forehead as his soul began to warp with misery. "But I still want you, Sammy. I'll never let go, don't you worry… You'll never be far from your maker. I'm even more a part of you now and you'll never be rid of me…" The subversive words started to fade away as he felt subtle warmth envelop him, pushing away his tormentor's caress, and pulling him asunder.

* * *

Dean sat in the bathroom on watch while Bobby made breakfast. He knew Bobby was right, he had to be patient with Sam. But this whole thing sucked ass. It was so unfair, but then, the universe wasn't fair. A quiet splash caught his attention. Sam's body had finally released the tension and his hands fell to his side, relaxed. His neck tilted forward and his slightly-parted mouth filled with water. Dean surged up and lifted his head out of the water, but Sam was already alert. Wide eyes stared down the length of his body before he scrambled in a frantic attempt to stand.

Warm, sticky liquid covered his form and Sam knew from the metallic tang in the air that it could only be blood. Every inch of his skin was coated and revulsion swept through him. A faint voice and firm hands tried to capture him, but he had to wash this off, he had to be clean. He struggled to reach the knobs but the wrists of his outstretched arms were caught in a vice grip. His vision whirled as his body was yanked to the side. Someone's face—Dean's? —swam into view. The mouth was moving but he could not discern any intelligible words. He shut eyes and took a deep breath, biting his cheek as he exhaled. When he opened them again, the face—definitely Dean's—looked relieved, although still terribly concerned.

"Sam? You alright?"

He nodded weakly. "Yeah. Sorry, Dean." The grasp loosened, allowing Sam to draw his hands in towards his chest and gently rub the assaulted joints. "Waking up is always hard."

"It's okay. Think you're back with us now?" Sam bobbed his head in affirmation. "I can get you some fresh clothes. Bobby's making breakfast. Join us when you're ready."

"Okay, sounds good."

Dean rose and awkwardly limped out of the room to retrieve Sam's clothes. However, Sam didn't notice; he was too concerned with the streaks of red discoloring the water as it swirled down the drain.

* * *

Sam quietly came to the table and ate the food Bobby had prepared while Dean and Bobby talked about their experience with the Leviathan. Surely they had been over it; perhaps they were discussing it again for Sam's benefit. He didn't remember the encounter well. Something about looking for their surrogate father, seeing someone in the lot, a gunshot, then a tire iron and blackness. He decided he should pay attention to catch up on what he had missed.

"Hell, dropping a car barely stopped it," someone was saying. Sam vaguely saw the junker hanging over the stranger as Dean wrangled with the controller.

"Maybe you should try dropping a car on yourself. Oooh—how about a tractor trailer? That might work," Lucifer purred in his ear, appearing so suddenly Sam dropped his fork in surprise. Dean eyed him carefully. Moving to sit next to him, Lucifer picked up Sam's butter knife and twirled it in his fingers. "Nah, you never could, you gutless sop. But maybe," and he appeared beside Dean, "you just need a little encouragement in the right direction…" Lucifer caressed Dean's face with the blunt blade, strawberry jam leaving tracks in lieu of blood.

Dean watched as Sam swallowed compulsively in fear, his torturer again drawing him in. _Your hand. Press your hand, you idiot!_ Dean plead silently. He couldn't always be there to remind Sam what to do. Then Sam was looking at him. No, not quite at him. He was watching something happen to him. For a second, their eyes locked and that was enough to break Sam out of the hallucination. He reached for his hand and sighed with relief. Sam flicked a nervous look back at Dean. Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam stood up urgently and walked to the side door before he could find words. Dean looked to Bobby, who shook his head, dissuading him from following his stricken brother.

* * *

Sam marched out of the cabin. Lucifer followed, silent. _There's only one way around this_ , the hunter decided. "Yes, Sam, that's right," Lucifer said convincingly. "You know what to do." He nodded slowly, approving of Sam's train of thought.

Sam whirled angrily and faced Lucifer. He used the extra three inches of height he had on the devil and tried to tower over him. "No. This stops today."

"No?" Lucifer repeated incredulously. His expression became grim. "Sam, I am inside you. A part of me is in you and you left a part of yourself with me. You think you can ignore that? We are _two halves made whole_ and you stole that away from the universe." Anger seeped into Lucifer's voice and Sam cringed. Memories of that tone in the cage flooded his already weak mind. Lucifer's firm hand on his jaw brought him back to present, to those piercing blue eyes staring into the depths of his tattered soul. A slight twitch shook Lucifer's lips. "Worse, you stole that from _me_. You don't get to walk free having committed such a sin."

Sam couldn't help but let out a pitiful laugh. "Sin? _You_ want to talk about sin!?" He shook his head. "No, Lucifer, you don't get that privilege."

"What privilege?" he interrupted, hate brewing in his eyes.

"To talk. About anything. You had your chance. You lost. Deal with it." Sam turned and walked further around the cabin.

Lucifer sputtered in disbelief as he chased after his vessel. "Samuel Winchester. How dare you talk to me in that tone!" His attempt at fatherly condescension fell flat on Sam's broad shoulders. "I am an archangel—"

"A fallen archangel," Sam interrupted without looking at him.

"Whatever you call me, you should respect me, fear me. I know every molecule of your being, Sam." Lucifer paused, then his voice took on a lighter tone. "Ah, yes, remember that time, when I tore you apart, atom by atom, quark by quark, snapping your strings until all those dimensions crumbled in on themselves? Almost brings a tear to my eye. Don't you remember that, Sammy?" he wheedled.

"I'm not listening," Sam said loudly, still walking.

Dean heard Sam's voice coming from the broken window and went to listen in, despite knowing all too well he wouldn't like what he heard.

"You have to remember that one. I gotta say, it was one of my most elegant tortures," he gloated, pride swelling his chest.

"It was one of millions of ways you killed me. I lost count after a while," Sam said plainly. The nonchalance in his voice crushed Dean. Sam must have suffered far beyond his imagination could comprehend.

"But that one was so perfect. Slow and exact. If I recall correctly, it took months. Let's see if we can figure it out." He put a cool hand on Sam's neck and the human stopped in his tracks, paralyzed by the memory of excruciating pain. His knees buckled and he fell to the muddy ground. He stared at his left hand and watched it slowly disintegrate, the sheer existence of his body fading away.

Dean watched, felt he should do something, but his brother didn't seem in immediate danger so he waited to see what would happen.

"Right, right, it's coming back to me now. Not only did I pull you apart at the quantum level, I also annihilated those particles! You actually ceased to be. Wiped from the universe! Except for your pesky soul. Can't get rid of that toilet rag." Lucifer paused thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Though, your body seemed alright without it for a year." Anger surged within Sam and he glared up at Lucifer. He had done horrible things without his soul. All those people he killed... "What, that wasn't my fault! Blame your old pal Castiel! Hmm, little brothers are such disappointments, aren't they?"

"Leave Cas out of this," Sam spat. Dean was surprised to hear Sam defending the angel after what he'd done to Sam, to the world. "This is your fault. You had such a needy, desperate grip on my soul he couldn't get it out. You are pathetic, Lucifer. All your torture and lies just show you for what you are. A worthless, whining child in need of discipline. Couldn't let go of your toys until you broke them. God probably left because He couldn't deal with your temper tantrums." Dean's eyebrows arched in shock. Did he really just hear Sam bitch out Satan?

Sam felt a marble arm move around his neck and Lucifer had him in a headlock. He jerked his body up from the ground. Lucifer's voice was razor sharp, hissing in Sam's ear. "That's not what you said when you were begging for mercy. That's not what you said when you vowed I was your god, your savior, your creator." He tightened his grip and Sam's arms scrabbled frantically as air became scarce. "That's not what you said when you confessed you were my little bitch." Lucifer's other hand stroked Sam's cheek with nauseating affection.

Sam ripped himself free and turned. "That was in the cage. Now, I don't need your mercy. You are not my god, my savior, or my creator. And I am most definitely not your little bitch!" Sam was shouting now. "You're not real. Just some perverted distortion of my memories of the cage. You—" Sam stopped mid-breath, cut off by Lucifer's rebuttal.

"Now, Sam, you know that's not completely true." He smirked knowingly, imploring Sam to be honest with himself. "A little bit of me came back with you. Nestled inside you, knit into your very being."

"Like a parasite?" Sam's voice was tight.

Lucifer's lips turned in his characteristic 'not bad' face and he nodded. "Your soul is infected with me, Sam. A disease you'll never cure. Though I see it more like a superpower but hey, that's just me," he shrugged.

Sam shook his head. "Whatever connection you think you have with me, it's nothing. It is nothing compared to what I have with Dean. To what I have with Bobby. You will never take that from me. You never could, even in the cage." Dean felt his heart clench. The conviction with which Sam spoke was moving. "All those decades and you could never wrench that from me. I'll be damned if I let you do it now."

Lucifer smiled challengingly. "Sam, you never _let_ me do anything. I did what I wanted. You were powerless to stop it. What tiny ant are you compared to a being like me?"

"Well, this tiny ant stopped your plans for the Apocalypse. And I'll stop you now, just like I did then. This is it. It stops today. Try anything you want, but I'm done. You are not real and you will not ruin the rest of my life. You had your way for a hundred and eighty years. However long I have left will not be ruled by you. Go back to Hell, Lucifer," Sam was growling by the end, his body puffed up with defiance.

"But it's so much more fun here with you, Sammy!" he drawled. Sam stiffened at the use of 'Sammy.' He hated it when Dean said it, but Lucifer? It was too much. His captor knew this all too well. "Sammy, do whatever you want, but I will always be here. Your constant companion as much as I ever was, just now you get the added benefit of my direct company. Admit it, you'd miss me. You've spent far more time with me than Deano. I am more your brother than he is."

"Shut up!" Sam shouted contemptuously. "You will never be my brother, my soul mate, my other half—whatever bullshit you think you are, Lucifer, you're not fooling me. You feed me lies, try to break me down but you know what? I survived. I survived all your torture—"

"Yeah, 'cause I let you," Lucifer interjected quietly.

"Whatever. You're not gonna control me now. Say whatever you want, do whatever you want. I'm going to ignore you from here on out. You can haul your sorry ass home whenever it suits you." Sam stared evenly into his torturer's eyes.

Lucifer was silent for a few moments, calculating his next move. "You say that now, Sammy, and I know you believe it. But perhaps you forget how _intimately_ I understand you." He licked his lips. "You won't be able to evade me for long. Hmm, I think this could be fun. Let's see how long it takes to break you. As it is in Hell, so it shall be on Earth."

"You won't win," Sam retorted.

"That's what you said last time, but I distinctly remember those lips saying that sweet little word." He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "Guess we'll find out. See ya soon, Sammy." Lucifer winked and snapped out of existence, leaving Sam truly alone.

He stood looking out into the woods, unable to see the forest through the trees. He started to shake slightly but regained his composure. _No, I won't let this happen. I beat him before when he was real, I can do it now. It's just the wall. He's not actually here. I got this._ He rubbed his cut gently. _I can do this._ Sam remained motionless, repeating this, forcing himself to believe it. A hand on his shoulder nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. "God, Dean!" he exclaimed. He pressed his wound to make sure it was really Dean. No flickering. He relaxed.

"Sorry, Sammy, didn't mean to sneak up on ya." Dean was torn between making a joke and wrapping his brother in a bear hug. He decided on neither. "You okay? You stormed out back there." His eyes were filled with concern.

Sam looked down. "Yeah, sorry. I just, uh, had to get some air."

Dean hesitated then lowered his voice. Better to be direct while Sam was still lucid. "I heard you talking, Sam. With Lucifer." Sam hung his head in shame, humiliated that his brother had heard his half of the exchange. Dean's voice filled with satisfaction. "Sounds like you gave that bastard a beat down!" He looked up at Dean, surprised by his reaction. Dean could see the pain pulsing in Sam's eyes despite his apparent victory. "What was he saying to you?"

Sam rolled his shoulders listlessly and looked away. "What does he ever say? Same old bullshit."

Dean rolled his lip into his mouth, debating how hard to press his fragile brother. He had told himself he wasn't going to ask this question, and he chided himself as the words sprung from his lips. "What did you mean 'It was one of millions of ways you killed me. I lost count after a while.'? Tell me you were just using a figure of speech."

The haunted look Sam returned made Dean instantly regret his intrusive query. The blood drained away from Sam's face as Lucifer stood behind Dean, counting slowly on his fingers. Without taking his attention away from counting, he calmly said, "I just couldn't stay away. Tell him Sam, tell him how many times you died. Over and over and over and over. Endlessly, repeatedly, every time a new and beautiful approach to death. You were wed with oblivion. Tell him how many times you died and how many times you screamed out his name. Tell him how he was never there for you." He halted, a memory striking him. "Well, when he was, it was hardly out of brotherly affection." Lucifer smiled to himself. "That one time, oh, you really thought he was there to save you!" The glee in his voice made Sam want to vomit.

"Dean…" Sam's voice was so small. "You don't want to know."

"Sam," he implored, wishing his brother could share some of this burden.

"What good will it do you? Why would you want to know?"

"Because deep down, he likes to see you suffer, Sammy. He hated you from the moment you were born, and he was right to. You took his perfect family away from him. Seems you have a habit of doing that," Lucifer accused, his arms folding across his chest. Sam bit his tongue to keep himself from responding.

"You know I'm not about sharing and caring but maybe... maybe if I could understand what happened to you…" Dean insisted gently.

"You could what, fix me?" The bitterness in his voice was acidic.

"Dude, don't be a dick."

"Yeah, Sam, don't be a dick. Don't be a—what was it? Assbutt?" Sam forced his attention away from the devil and focused on Dean. His green eyes were round and tender. Sam's anger melted away and he sighed in preparation.

"I... um…" he swallowed and looked down, deliberating whether telling Dean the truth was prudent. He glanced at Dean. The sincerity in his eyes made lying impossible. "I, uh, lost count after three million or so." He scrunched his face in thought. "Though I think that was just the first couple of months? I don't know. Like I said, I lost count."

"Three million?" Dean was sure he misheard. He _hoped_ he'd misheard.

"The last number that comes to mind is 3,207,136." Lucifer motioned to increase the number considerably.

Letting his crutches fall to the ground, Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, his other bearing a finger that waved urgently in Sam's face. "Are—Are you telling me that Lucifer killed you three million, two hundred thousand and some times?" The bile was burning up his throat, threatening an explosion.

"At least," Sam replied curtly, ignoring Lucifer's recitation of the much, much larger exact number. "For a while it was a point of pride to keep track. Then things got a little fuzzy and it was hard to tell if it was actually me dying or a fake me or…" He shook his head to dispel the memories flashing before him. "At some point I gave up counting. It was pointless anyway. I thought I was down there for eternity. I was going to run out of numbers eventually." The matter-of-factness of his voice disturbed Dean immensely.

"How long did it feel like to you?" Dean choked out. He knew the answer but wanted to see if Sam would be honest.

"How long did it _feel_? It felt like forever. Dying felt like it took years in itself. Like he made time slow down as the life drained out of me. But he reminded me constantly. We were up to 180-some years by the end, I think. He kept pointing out that Cas had come to save you after 40 but that no one was coming to save me. And then laughing, he would find some new, creative way to kill me." Sam's voice was cold and detached, as if he were talking about someone else.

"Sam," Dean croaked, tears spilling out of his eyes. "I'm so sorry." He wrapped his giant little brother in the tightest hug he had ever given, threatening to squeeze the air out of his lungs. He felt Sam resist slightly before giving in entirely, embracing him with equal strength. "I'll never let that happen to you again." He stroked Sam's head as his brother collapsed into his shoulder, heavy sobs convulsing his body.

Bobby watched from the window, his emotions torn. He had a new appreciation for Sam's tenacity, but he feared the young man would not hold together much longer. This was the first time he had seen Sam cry in earnest since the wall broke down. Clearly it was cathartic, but the desperation evidenced by the way he clung to Dean cut a little too close to the bone for Bobby's comfort. They weren't out of the woods yet.

* * *

The brothers returned to the house in silence, clearly exhausted. Bobby said nothing as Sam helped Dean to the couch then flopped himself onto the cot. He barely had time to pull a blanket over himself before he passed out. Once he heard soft snores escape Sam's mouth, Dean groaned loudly. His heart felt tired. Sam was so broken. Dean had been wrong to put his soul back. But it was too late now. Plus, had he left it with Lucifer, his brother, the real essence of his brother, would still be endlessly dying. At least three million deaths? Dean was unsure he could comprehend what that really meant. Were there even that many ways to kill someone? He sighed. If anyone could do it, it was Lucifer. He'd been in the cage since time began, left to stew in his anger and desire for revenge. Which was taken out on Sam. _Oh, Sam!_ Dean wanted to tear the world apart for inflicting such cruelty on his baby brother. The more he turned it over in his head, the deeper into despair he fell.

He felt himself violently shaking and it took him a few moments to realize it was Bobby, not his bottomless grief, wracking his body. "Dean, you in there? C'mon, son, it'll be alright." Dean filled his lungs with air and opened his eyes. Bobby sat back, relieved. He handed Dean a beer. "Can't have the two of you breaking down left and right."

Dean took a deep swig. He twisted and checked on Sam. Still soundly sleeping. He turned back to Bobby, his face contorted with anguish. "How is he even functioning? Did you hear what he said? That bastard killed him at least three million times. I've half a mind to open that damn cage again and rip Lucifer apart myself."

Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder as if to stop him. "And how would that help Sam?" Bobby asked sadly.

Dean sighed in agreement and dragged his hands across his face. "We all knew Lucifer is fucked up, but, God, had I fully realized what Sam was going into, I never would have let him say 'yes'. This is on us, Bobby. We failed him."

"Are you nuts? We tried talking him out of it. We tried everything we could to stop the devil. This was the only way that wouldn't torch half the planet in the process. You know how he felt. He let Lucifer out, he had to put him back."

"But I broke the first seal. I gave in after only thirty years. My weakness lead to Sam's suffering."

Bobby was tired of having this conversation. They'd had it countless times in the year Sam was gone. But he went through it for Dean's benefit. "Dean, if you didn't break that seal, someone else would have. You shouldn't have been there in the first place. You were only there to save Sam, and that was all Azazel. And that tracks back to Lucifer. So this is still all Lucifer's fault."

"Or it's God's for casting him down in the first place."

That was a first. It caught Bobby off guard. "You're... you're blaming God?"

"Well, He made Lucifer didn't He? And isn't He all-knowing? Shouldn't He have seen what Lucifer would do, all the suffering he would cause? And He didn't lift a finger to stop it. Dammit, I wish Cas was here. He'd know what to say." Dean looked up at the ceiling, rage mixing with misery as he prayed with no hope of an answer. Bobby had wondered how the loss of his friend had affected Dean, but the subject had been taboo since Cas broke Sam's wall. Apparently, Dean was willing to forgive the angel his trespasses in his own moment of profound need.

Bobby sighed. _What a mess._ "Dean…" His eyes focused on the older hunter, expectant. "The fact that Sam is even alive and walking around right now is a testament to his strength. The kid's a fighter. He'll get through it, but he needs you. And not this you mopey you, waxing philosophical. That'll freak him out even more!" Dean's weak smile returned Bobby's. "Just... just be patient with him. He's gone through an unimaginable trauma. He's gonna be shaky for a while. The best we can do is make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

Dean nodded in agreement, a grin breaking his somber expression. "Oh, you should have heard him, Bobby. He called Lucifer a whiny child throwing a temper tantrum. Told him he was the reason God left. Wish I could have seen that douche's face. Maybe it will get better from here on out. Sam said he would try ignoring him." Bobby held his gaze evenly, staying quiet. "What?" Dean didn't like the lack of vocal support.

"Don't you think Lucifer—Sam's mind—whatever, will just try harder?"

Dean processed that for a few moments. "Probably." He shrugged. "Just means we'll have to be even better." Resolution set his features. "I will not let Sam die one more damn time at Lucifer's hands, real or imagined. I couldn't be there for him before but I will sure as hell be there for him now!" His vehemence was more natural than his depression and Bobby felt reassured. He couldn't worry this much about both of them. Dean shifted his leg off the couch and grabbed his crutches. He sat next to Sam, his back turned on the world. Right now, his whole world was his little brother.

* * *

Sam stirred later in the afternoon. His body felt rigid as if he had been tensing it the entire time he was asleep. Everything hurt to move. Forcing open his eyelids, he was greeted by two sets of worried eyes. He chose to ignore one and acknowledge the other.

"How ya feeling, Sammy?"

"Sammy," Lucifer echoed in an obnoxious tone.

"Better," he stated, though not sure if he actually believed it. He looked around for Bobby.

"Bobby? He went out to meet up with some hunters to figure out how to track the Leviathan. They went into the waterways so God knows where they are now."

Sam nodded. He knew he should be helping out, researching the monsters. "Does he have anything here I can read? Start going through?"

"You sure you're up for that?" Dean wasn't patronizing, just genuine in his concern.

"Yeah, Sam, you sure you're up for that?" Lucifer whined, mocking Dean's attention. "Would me playing darts with your face distract you at all?" Metal glinted in the light as Lucifer picked at his nails with the point.

"Bobby found some old lore books at the local library. Don't know if they'll be at all useful, but worth a shot." Dean nodded his head in the direction of the small stack on the floor.

Sam stood up and ambled over, picking up the first tome. He sat down at the kitchen table and opened the disintegrating cover. Something whizzed behind him and implanted itself in the wall. "Damn, I missed!" Lucifer complained. Disappointed, he threw another but it went wide and passed a foot in front of Sam's eyes. He continued as Sam flipped the pages, each time getting a little bit closer. Eventually they got so close that Sam's body felt the need to dodge the tiny missiles. Sam sighed in frustration.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

He closed the book and looked up at the ceiling. "He's throwing darts at my head. Makes concentrating a little difficult."

 _What the fuck?_ Slowly it was dawning on Dean that there were, in fact, at least three million ways to kill someone. "Did you try the hand thing?"

"No…" Sam rubbed at the bandage until his shadow flickered out of existence.

"You need to do that ASAP. Don't let it get to the point where he's messing with your head."

"But... It, uh, won't heal if I keep opening it." He tried to sound convincing but Dean could sense it was an excuse.

"And what else?" Dean's voice was firm.

Sam looked up at Dean, dismay seizing his expression. "I'm worried that it will stop working if I do it too much. That he'll find some way around it."

"Well, if that happens, we'll figure something else out. But until then, you do that until your damn hand falls off."

"Okay, okay I hear ya."

* * *

Occasionally Sam wondered where Lucifer went when he wasn't antagonizing him. He had to forcefully remind himself that Lucifer _wasn't actually there._ He was a hallucination. A damn good one, but still imaginary. At least Sam had a good reason for his hallucinations: he had saved the world. Others were just blessed with a cruel quirk of biology. He considered whether he could really live the rest of his life plagued by the devil. Maybe it would get better over time.

 _"Oh, yeah, Sam, because Hell_ totally _got easier the longer you were there,"_ Lucifer interrupted his thoughts, sarcasm dripping from every word. Sam looked around the room for his bully but did not see him. _"Just hanging out in your head. It's cozy in here. A nice me-shaped hole riiiiiiiiight in the middle."_ Lucifer wiggled into his consciousness like a toddler snuggling between his parents. _"This is great. I shoulda made a vessel eons ago. You're so perfect for me."_ Sam hated the possessiveness in his velvety voice. It revolted Sam that he was specially designed to hold the devil and allow him to maximize his power. He despised the very fiber of his being, but knew the best revenge was to continue fighting. _"Aw, Sam, don't hate yourself,"_ Lucifer murmured quietly, trying to quell his vessel. _"In fact, don't hate me either. I didn't want this to happen. It's just how it is. If you gotta blame anyone, blame Michael. Blame God. They cast me down and forced me into this position."_

This discussion had frequented their exchanges in Hell, during those rare times Lucifer's torture physically allowed Sam to speak. Sam had been through every iteration of the argument; still Lucifer maintained it was not his fault, that he was the victim. Sam could not resist smiling at the irony as Lucifer would find yet another unique, inventive way to drain the life from his body. _Some victim you are,_ he remembered thinking. Lucifer would always counter with the pedantic explanation that victims sometimes became abusers to act out their issues. _"You know I'm right, Sammy. I'm always right,"_ he crooned both then and now. Sam frowned as he felt his resolve to fight slipping away but he was just too tired to chase it.

"Earth to Sam. You with us here?" Dean waved his hand in front of Sam's unresponsive face. He snapped his fingers and Sam jolted, blinking repeatedly as his eyes adjusted to stimuli.

Sam shook his head, dissolving Lucifer from his awareness. "Yeah, man, sorry," he said quietly. He swallowed and took a deep breath. Dean tried to catch his eyes but Sam couldn't bear the concern on Dean's face. "What... what if it never gets better? What if Lucifer is permanently burned into my mind like some sort of twisted branding from the cage?"

"No, that's not it. We'll figure this out. We got you out and I will not let you be trapped there for the rest of your life. No, not gonna happen, Sammy."

" _Sammy,"_ Lucifer echoed from somewhere in his head, his voice simultaneously soothing and devious. Sam's face crumpled. He wanted to scream and make Lucifer go away but it was pointless. _"I'm in you, Sammy. Bound to you, forever."_ He laughed and Sam's nerves rattled.

Dean's firm grip enveloped his shoulders and he focused on Dean. "I know, I know. I just, he's in my head, even when I can't see him." Sam's expression turned sour. "He was inside me, Dean. I had the devil inside me." _This isn't news Sam. What's with the sudden realization?_ Dean thought. "Who wakes up and thinks 'Yeah, today I'll say yes to Satan using my body so he can start the damn Apocalypse.'"

" _You did, you crazy bastard,"_ Lucifer offered helpfully.

"Dean," he looked up urgently at his brother. "Promise me, if it gets too bad, you'll take care of me."

"Of course, Sam. You were in a coma for five days. Didn't leave your side."

"No, I mean, _take care of me_." _Put me out of my misery,_ Sam left unsaid. Shock spread on Dean's face as he understood his meaning. "Please. No one was supposed to live through being an archangel's vessel. Especially not goddam Lucifer's. He's the worst son of a bitch we've ever encountered and he's _in me_ , Dean. I can't do this forever."

"Careful what you wish for, Sammy." Lucifer appeared next to him, his cool body making several points of contact against Sam's, who scooted over to escape. "You might just end up moving back in with me." Lucifer winked and smiled, amusement animating his face. "Got lots of new things I've been dying to try. Well, I won't be the one dying." An annoyingly smug grin spread on his face. He chuckled lightly and slapped his hand on Sam's knee. Sam cringed. He gave in and pressed the cut. Lucifer flickered out of view and Sam sighed with relief. He looked up. Dean was just watching him, unable to decide how to respond to this completely unreasonable request.

"You don't think, if I die, I'll go back to Hell, do you?"

Dean resisted the urge to bitch slap his brother. "Dude, why would you go back? The only reason you were there in the first place is because you jumped in."

"I don't know... if Lucifer is bound to me, then maybe he can pull me back."

"Wait, bound to you? Is that what he's telling you?" Sam glanced up nervously at Dean's angry shape. "You know he's full of shit, right? It's just your brain trying to fuck with you."

Sam looked down and nodded. "I know, Dean. It just _feels_ so real."

"So, not getting any better since you told him to fuck off?" Dean tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He'd hoped if Sam consciously decided to ignore the hallucinations, his brain would be better able to manage them.

Sam shook his head slightly. "No… I'm sure if I got more sleep it would be easier… but it's at its worst when I sleep."

"Did the Benadryl help at all?"

Sam frowned. "Not really. I, uh, didn't pass out until he wanted me to."

Dean bit back his frustration. "And then what?"

Sam swallowed hard, his Adam's apple dancing nervously. "I relived the first six months in the cage. With Lucifer killing me every couple of seconds." He avoided Dean's eyes like the plague.

Pushing down a yell, Dean threw the near-empty beer bottle in his hand across the room but instantly felt terrible as the smashing glass made Sam visibly flinch. "I'm sorry," he said as he stood up and walked away from Sam. He turned and looked back at Sam, who's eyes were anxiously darting to different spots on the floor. He looked pathetically dispirited. "You know I'm not mad at you, right?"

Sam's eyes met his, and though his words acknowledged Dean's own, his expression did not communicate belief. "I do. Situation just sucks."

"That's putting it mildly!" Dean forced a small smile onto his face. "What would make it better?" Sam tried and failed to fight a yawn. "Sleep?"

Sam nodded. "I feel like all I do is sleep these days, but it never seems like enough."

"The Benadryl at least made you sleepy, right?"

"Yeah, but I still couldn't fall asleep…"

"What if we tried it with something else? My pain meds make me really groggy. Maybe it would put you out of it enough that Hell wouldn't seep through."

"Dean, I really don't want to—"

"Just try it," Dean interrupted. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean preempted him. "For me? Just try it, and if it doesn't work, we'll do it your way," he implored.

Sam's shoulders sagged in submission. "Okay, fine."

Dean smiled supportively. "Good, good." He collected the medication and brought them to Sam. "This should work."

"Because you're a pharmacist now?" Sam joked, trying to mask the concern he felt. Mixing meds after a head injury probably wasn't their best idea, but Dean was right: it was worth a shot.

"Oh yeah. Just call me Dr. Sexy." Sam rolled his eyes. He had forgotten about all that ridiculousness. Focusing, he looked down at the pills Dean dropped into his hand. Five garishly pink capsules nestled around four white oblong tablets. Sam frowned, questioning the dose. Dean knew what he was thinking. "What, are you worried about overdosing? Sam, that's like barely more than the regular dose for your sasquatch body. You'll be fine. Plus, some opioid-fueled dreams may do ya some good!"

 _That's not actually a bad idea_ , Sam thought. He placed the medications in his mouth and swallowed both the chemicals and his anxiety with a gulp of water. Dean was right. He probably wouldn't overdose from this. He doubted Lucifer would let him get off that easy.

* * *

Sam spent the next hour and a half reading, resisting both Lucifer's taunts and the slow pull of the drugs. He fell asleep without realizing it. Dean arranged him comfortably on the couch and tucked him in, satisfied he had successfully accomplished his role as big brother once again. It had been his first job, and ultimately, the only one that mattered.

* * *

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* * *

A/N: It may be a while before I update again because I'm adding a new part to Day 8 I had not previously envisioned. Being the perfectionist that I am, it might take me some time to execute my devious plan to my satisfaction.


	8. Day 8

**Day 8**

A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken be this long to update. All your support has been wonderful and kept me going. I really struggled with a part of this chapter and basically decided "screw it, time to move on." Between that and life getting in the way… well, you know how it goes.

 **Warning for graphic torture.** Poor Sam. Enjoy.

* * *

1/8/2018 update: I was really unhappy with the first part of the chapter so went back and fixed it.

* * *

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* * *

Urgent tones penetrated Sam's slumber. He swam through his exhaustion towards the voice. "… —than, they're here! Sam! Wake up! SAM! I need backup!" Awareness scratched at his consciousness and he flung the blanket off as he opened his eyes. Frantic scuffling drew his attention to the kitchen, where Dean and another man were fighting. Dean slipped out of his attacker's hold and grabbed a chef knife. He lunged for the man's heart but his parry was avoided, instead only slashing the stranger's arm. Black fluid sprayed from the wound.

 _Leviathan?!_ Sam thought with panic. _How could they have found us already?_ A strangled yelp from Dean focused Sam. "Dean, is this real?" he asked quickly.

"Yes, Sam, very real! Very fucking real! Help!" The man swept Dean's knees out from under him and then lifted him in a headlock. The monster was steadily cutting off the air supply and Dean became pale. Sam reached for his gun under his pillow. A gunshot wouldn't kill it, but maybe it would distract it long for Dean to catch a breath.

He lifted the gun, the same gun he had almost killed himself with, and willed himself to steady his shaking hands. Hunting instincts kicked in and muscle memory took over. His finger slid down to the trigger and he lined up the shot. As he pulled the cool metal in, he saw Lucifer appear in the corner of his eye. Within a second, blinding light and a deafening bang overloaded his awareness. He felt his finger contract as his whole body flinched. The pungent smell of sulfur and cordite filled his nose as he struggled to regain his senses. He attempted to train his eyes on his embattled brother but saw only the Leviathan.

Because Dean was on the floor. Blood trickling down his face. Dead.

Dean was dead. Sam had killed him.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

He sat up in bed, his immediate confusion giving way to dawning recognition. _The mystery spot. The never-ending Tuesday._ He looked over and found Dean exactly where he expected him. Dean — God, he looked so young and carefree! Before he went to Hell, before the demon blood, before the Apocalypse…

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

A thought struck Sam. He sprung out of bed and ran to the bathroom. The face staring back at him was framed with much shorter hair and fewer worry lines. He turned to Dean, who was watching him with curiosity. "Dean, what year is it?"

"2008…" Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah, just need a minute." He closed the bathroom door. He rubbed his face, trying to dispel the panic rising in him. What was going on? Was this just Lucifer messing with him? Or had it been Gabriel — wait, no, the Trickster or was it actually Gabriel? — this whole time? Did a trickster really have enough power to manipulate reality like that? Well, he had done six months no problem, what's a few years? Though did Hell count as extra time? Almost two centuries would be a stretch… so maybe it really was Gabriel? Or Lucifer? Or something else entirely?

If it were an angel, he could trap it with holy oil. Shit, no, they didn't have that yet. He could banish it with the sigils. But what if those weren't real? Just a prop from his fake future? This was impossible. He let out a frustrated groan which came out more like a muffled yell.

"What's going on in there? Sam? Are your freaky visions back?"

Whoa… his visions… back when that was the weirdest thing about him, not being the goddam devil's vessel. "Sam?" Dean started banging on the door.

"Dean, I just need some space!" Sam said over the increasing tempo of his brother's fists. Clearly Dean didn't hear him or perhaps he was just being extra annoying. Sam turned and flung the door open in exasperation, causing Dean to stumble backwards. A flurry of limbs and then a loud crack against the sink, and Dean was on the floor in an unresponsive heap. "Dean!" Sam rushed forward and cradled Dean's limp body. A pass of his hand over the back of Dean's head revealed blood. A lot of blood. _Too much blood._ Dean was dead.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam resisted the impulse to open his eyes and confirm what he already knew. He was stuck in the time loop again.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam set his features to hide the misery he felt. "I'm starving. Let's get breakfast." Sam dressed quickly and practically marched Dean out the door to the diner. The familiar routine of the time loop came back to him surprisingly easily. Steal keys, order, catch hot sauce. He eyed the businessman he previously identified as the Trickster. While Dean was eating, Sam cut his hand with his pocketknife and drew the angel banishing sigil on a napkin. He rose swiftly, ignoring Dean's inquiries, and approached his target. He tossed the sigil on the counter and slammed his bleeding hand down, hoping against hope the diner would have one less occupant.

Nothing happened. "What the hell?! Get away from me, you freak!" The man jumped up and shoved Sam. Never one to see his little brother pushed around, Dean stood and managed to walk right into the fireball from a grease explosion.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Alright, not an angel. Or the sigil didn't actually work. So Lucifer or Trickster. Or something else.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

He took a deep breath then looked squarely at Dean. "I need to say something. And it's gonna sound crazy."

"What, you had a crush on Britney Spears when you were younger? Yeah, Sam, I know."

"I'm serious, Dean." The acidity in Sam's voice drained the humor away from Dean's face.

"Okay, shoot."

"I'm not even sure how best to explain it, but we're stuck in a time loop—"

"A time loop?"

"Yeah, every day I wake up and it's Tuesday. And you die."

"I don't remember—"

"You never do. It's only me. I'm the only thing that changes in this town. I've watched you die over a hundred times and I can never stop it. I thought I had solved it. I thought it was the Trickster. I trapped him and eventually got time moving again and our lives continued. I was in 2011 when I woke up here again."

Dean was listening attentively, though he was clearly dubious. "Whoa, wait, you were three years in the future? What was it like? What were we doing? We kill all the demons and settle down with some hot hunter chicks? Tell me we finally made it to Cancun?" Sam's face hardened and he looked away. Dean's face fell. "Guess not… Cuba?" Sam's jaw clenched and he laid his eyes anywhere but on Dean. Dean took the hint. He was not actually as oblivious as he led Sam to believe. "What? What happened?"

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Wasn't real."

"But what if it's some new form of your psychic stuff? A heads-up would be great!"

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah, see, the psychic stuff was sorta the problem…"

"What do you mean?"

He swallowed the shame building in his throat. "Well, I couldn't find a way to stop you from going to Hell. So when you went to Hell, I teamed up with Ruby to try to get revenge on Lilith. Four months later, you were pulled out of Hell by an angel. But—"

"An angel?!" Dean interrupted, incredulous.

"Yeah, they exist. And they're dicks with wings. Your words, not mine."

Dean bobbed his head in agreement. "Sounds like me."

"Anyway, you were down there for forty years of Hell-time, long enough to break the first seal of sixty-six to start the Apocalypse."

"The Apocalypse?! That's Azazel's endgame?"  
"It gets better…"

"And by better you mean…"

"While you were in Hell, I, uh, went to extreme lengths to avenge you. Ruby taught me how to exorcise demons with my mind;" shock spread on Dean's face, "and I could kill them without even touching them once I started drinking demon blood," Sam rushed out.

Dean held his hand up. "Did-did you just say _drinking demon blood_?!" Dean looked disgusted just repeating the words.

Shame burned Sam's cheeks. "Yes. I kind of got hooked on it… I thought it was what I had to do to stop the Apocalypse. But killing Lilith was actually the last seal. You tried to stop me and I almost killed you. I ended up setting Lucifer free."

His brother let out a chuckle. Sam looked at him, confused. "Lucifer?" Dean shook his head in disbelief. "No way, Sam. You, addicted? That's not you. Hell, that's closer to me! This future is stupid. No way you'd do that. You'd never go darkside."

"I'm not finished. It gets worse."

"How could it get worse than the devil?"

"You know how demons can just possess people? Well, angels need a person's consent before they can inhabit the vessel."

"Vessel?"

"Er… more polite term for meat suit? That's what Cas called it."

"Cas?"

"Castiel. The angel who rescued you from Hell."

"So what, we're on a nickname basis? You said angels were dicks."

"I think you started calling him Cas. Well, most of them are, and Cas can be, but he's one of the good ones. Anyway, turns out you're the archangel Michael's vessel and—"

Dean jumped up. "I'm a vessel? How the hell did I get dragged into this?" He looked irritated now.

Sam shrugged. "Something about our bloodlines." He pointed a finger at Dean. "You're God's chosen, Michael's vessel." He pointed that finger inwards. "Because of how I'm the only surviving psychic after Cold Oak, that means I'm Lucifer's vessel."

Dean's mouth dropped open as he collected his thoughts. "So, what, you and I are supposed to chicken fight with angels on our shoulders for the fate of the world?"

"Pretty much."

Dean took a few moments to process that. "But you said angels need consent. We can just not agree, right?"

Sam nodded his head up with a smirk then brought his chin down to his chest. "In theory. But they, uh, have their methods. They knew family is a way to get to us."

"But we don't have anyone left…" Dean interrupted, confused.

"We had a half-brother and they resurrected him."

Dean looked as if he was about to lose his mind. "A half-brother?! Had? What?"

"Yeah, Adam. In Minnesota. Guess dad shacked up with this woman during a hunt."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Half-brother Adam. Dammit, dad! Why didn't he ever tell us?"

"Wanted to keep him out of the life. Which failed. Ghouls got 'im."

Dean scrunched up his face in an ugly expression. "Messy…"

Sam stifled a snort. Feeding ghouls were child's play compared to Lucifer's penchant for blood, guts, and absolute obliteration. "Yeah, so angels resurrected Adam to try to lure you into a trap. Didn't work, but Michael took Adam for a vessel instead."

"Sucks. But the end of the world still wouldn't happen. You wouldn't ever say 'yes'," Dean said earnestly.

Sam felt his heart drop but kept his face straight. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I know you. You're stronger than that. You wouldn't say 'yes' to the devil no matter what."

Sam smiled sadly at this Dean's unbroken faith in his freakish, but not-yet-monstrous, little brother. "I did say 'yes'. But not because Lucifer pressured me. Our only play to stop the Apocalypse was to lock Lucifer back in his cage in Hell. I thought maybe I could hold him back for a split second and jump in."

"Jesus, that was really our best plan?" His voice was tight and his face grim.

"Unfortunately, yeah. I failed at first. He overpowered me instantly and went about destroying humanity. Millions died. It wasn't until he almost killed you that I was able to wrestle back control long enough to stop him."

Dean swallowed nervously but nodded at Sam, approval lighting up his face. "See, I knew you could do it. I told you you were strong enough. That when you get zapped back here?"

"Not exactly. Trapping Lucifer meant me jumping into the cage with him inside me." Dean grimaced at the phrasing. "I spent a little over 180 years in Hell trapped with Lucifer and Michael — not worth explaining that. Cas tried to rescue me but he couldn't get my soul out. My body was topside for a year hunting with no soul. I was a machine. I killed so many people, did horrible things…"

"I didn't stop you?" Sam shook his head. "Where was I?"

"Living with Lisa Braeden. I told you to find her if I successfully trapped Lucifer."

Dean made a 'not bad' face. "Lisa, huh?" He smiled. "I could live with that."

"But I came back, so it didn't last. We eventually got my soul back, but it messed me up bad. I've been having hallucinations of Hell and Lucifer. He follows me around everywhere." Dean frowned. "That's where I am… was? I don't know. I can't figure out if this is Lucifer or the Trickster — who turned out to be the archangel Gabriel — or another entity I haven't encountered yet. What do you think?"

Dean eyed him steadily, unsure how to respond. He took a few deep breaths. "First off, I know that future isn't real. You wouldn't do those things, Sam. You wouldn't get all strung out on demon blood, you wouldn't go your own way against everything like that, you wouldn't say 'yes' to Lucifer under any circumstances, and I don't believe your body could even function without your soul. You are way too dewy-eyed for it to survive on its own!" Dean smiled jokingly but was also doing his best to convince Sam.

Morbidly, Sam wished he could hear that stupid song right now and take away this Dean, this Dean who believed in him so completely, who trusted his learned good to overcome his innate evil, who couldn't imagine his little brother making so many disastrous mistakes. Sam wasn't that brother and Dean deserved so much better. He wasn't sure which was worse: being stuck in the time loop and have Dean dying over and over or this future being real. In explaining things to Dean, he had summarized all his failings so concisely it made him regret his very existence.

"Plus Sam, doesn't that all seem a little too crazy to be true? Angels, Lucifer, the Apocalypse? Kinda egotistical, even for us, to think the Apocalypse revolves around us. And don't you think if angels existed, we would've seen one by now?"

Sam considered this, but then again, nothing was too crazy for them. Dean had brought him back to life with a demon deal. "There's tons of lore on angels."

"Lots of lore on your sex life, too." Sam threw Dean a disapproving look but smiled to himself. "But really, the whole thing is just ridiculous. Makes sense that it could be the Trickster… but damn that's one hell of a slow build. What's the payoff? You going insane trying to figure out what's real?"

 _Worked for Lucifer_ , Sam thought. "The Trickster said the point of it was to get it through my head that I can't save you from going to Hell."

"Well, you can't, so you should stop trying."

Sam sighed with exasperation. "I just can't let you die, Dean. You wouldn't let me die, how could I do the same to you?"

"Because I'm the big brother and I said so?" He flashed a winning smile.

Sam was unamused. "You act like this is no big deal, like going to Hell will be a cakewalk. It's horrible, Dean. It's the worst thing you can imagine and then some. Suffering is a way of being. Don't tell me you're not scared."

Dean shrugged. "I am, but hey, to save you? Anything's worth it."

"That's not true, Dean. You could've stopped the Apocalypse by not bringing me back."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ugh, we're back on that are we? That future is stupid, Sam. Let it go." Dean strode towards the door. "You want breakfast or what? I've had enough of the crazy talk." He opened the door and stepped through without hearing Sam's answer.

"Dean, wait!" Sam cried but Dean was already around the corner. Sam grabbed his coat and hurried out the door, in time to see Dean's hand miss the railing because he was looking at Sam. Sam could do nothing to stop Dean as he tumbled down the stairs to his death.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam wanted to claw his eyes out. He couldn't take this much longer. After Dean snapped his neck falling down the stairs, he had died after being attacked by a swarm of Africanized bees, being crushed by shaking a snack machine in the motel lobby, bleeding out from an alligator bite, anaphylactic shock from some unknown pie ingredient, getting decapitated by a faulty industrial fan, being impaled by a rogue corn combine, falling in an open manhole, having his face smashed in by a bucking horse, and most ridiculous of all, having a heart attack from watching a scary movie.

Sam held up a hand to silence Dean before he could express his usual greeting. "What?" Dean complained instead. "I can't be happy to be alive?" Sam suppressed a scream and sat up. "It's a good day, we got some whackadoodle case thanks to you. Saw a decent looking diner on the way into town. Let's go!"

Sam grumbled and stood up, going through the motions until the day reset. Dean was waiting in the driver's seat of the Impala, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel along with the music Sam could already hear from yards away. He trudged down the stairs, instinctively keeping a hand on the rail.

"What's got you so crabby?" Dean asked as Sam slid into the car and slammed the door.

"Leave me alone. Just drive," Sam retorted angrily. He was so not in the mood for this. Dean made a face but backed out. Sam leaned his head against the window, his features the perfect image of sheer dejection.

Dean was quietly singing along with the radio when he suddenly stopped and pumped the brakes. "Sam!" Dean whispered urgently.

Sam snapped to attention and looked at Dean. "What?"

"I recognize that guy." He pointed out the windshield. "Isn't that the Trickster?" Sam saw the figure he too recognized as the man passed the car walking down the street. With alarming speed, Sam drew his gun from the glovebox, opened the door and jumped out, not letting his target out of his sight. "I'll take that as a yes." Dean parked Baby along the curb and got out. He went to the trunk and pulled out a stake. The blood was old and crusty, but hopefully it would still work. He followed Sam down the hill, towards a large overpass. He watched as Sam went into the shadows. Before Dean caught up, a bright light burst from the darkness and he had to shield his eyes. "Sam!" he shouted as he ran towards the structure. He then tripped over Sam's prone body, not seeing him due to the spots in his vision. "Sammy?"

His brother groaned and rolled away from him. "I almost had 'im, Dean!"

"What the hell happened?"

Sam stood and dusted off his clothes, extending a hand to Dean to help him up. The two turned and began walking back towards the car. "I shot him with these special bullets. Carved an obscure trapping sigil on it. Didn't trap him, but he sure as hell didn't like it!"

"That blast of light?"

"Him, trying to escape."

"And naturally you end up on the ground," Dean jabbed.

Sam shrugged. "At least we know how to piss him off. It's a start."

"Also a break in the case. I mean what are the chances that the disappearance and us seeing the Trickster are unrelated?"

"Absolutely zero," Sam supplied. So maybe the Trickster/Gabriel was behind all this.

They arrived at the Impala and Dean popped the trunk to return the stake to the weapons stash. "Woulda been nice if we could have ganked him right here and now, though."

"Oh, I fucking know it, man," Sam huffed angrily. He wanted this to be over. He slammed his body against the car in frustration, only to have horror take its place as the sleek vehicle started to move. "Dean! Look out! Did you forget the parking brake?!"

"Did I what?" Dean closed the trunk only to be pushed backwards as the car rolled down the hill and over him.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam let out a quiet laugh. His precious Baby had killed him. Well, Dean's forgetfulness, Sam's frustration, and Baby's mass.

"Oh, so now you think this is funny, Sam?" a vaguely familiar voice challenged.

He startled awake and looked over towards the sound of the intruder. Hazel eyes stared back at him in place of green ones. "How dare you show your face in here!" Sam shouted, launching himself at the Trickster.

The man laughed and flickered out of the way, a snap of his fingers making it such that Sam landed in a pile of rotting fish. Sam tried to right himself but slid around on the putrefied guts. "How dare I? How dare I, indeed. This is my world, bucko. You just happened to stumble back into it. Pretty dumb move on your part. And I mean, it's been really fun and all, but, I think it's time to make it a little more personal. How about a nice game of hide and seek? You hide, I seek. Or is it I hide, you seek? Either way, we meet, and bam! Dean's dead. Of course, you can try to kill me, but, you know, seeing how astonishingly successful you've been with that so far... Well, may the best man… er… being win."

The Trickster snapped his fingers and disappeared, leaving Sam abandoned in the pool of stinking fluids. Sam held back tears, wishing more than anything he could escape this unique Hell.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam took the time every morning to explain to Dean their predicament, but it never mattered. Whether it was a slit throat, a cannonball to the chest, or a lion loose from the traveling circus, complete with the Trickster as the lion tamer, Sam was powerless to intervene. Once, the Trickster had pretended to be Dean and Sam had shot the wrong one. He hated himself for that death and was immensely grateful Dean wouldn't recall that particular failure. He lost track of how many times he failed to save his brother, ultimately deciding it was better not to know. Something the Trickster prided himself on forcing Sam to remember.

"Sam, what a terrible little brother you are! Can't save Dean from anything. You're worthless, you know that?" Sam drew his gun but with a twitch of the Trickster's lips, the metal grew blazingly hot and melted in his hands. Sam screamed with pain as Dean looked between the two. "See, Dean, you just can't count on Sam for anything. He's always gonna let you down." The Trickster snapped his fingers and Dean vaporized into a cloud of fine red mist. The Trickster exhaled and blew the scarlet fog towards Sam, who tried, and failed, not to inhale the particles as he waited for the day to reset.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

He woke up choking on the disgusting droplets that no longer invaded his lungs. Clearing his head, he found something nagging at his mind. _That's not the Trickster's MO…_ He struggled to identify what was wrong. He went about his morning routine, staring at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Something about that triggered his memory and he realized his mistake. _Lucifer._ Disintegration was Lucifer's MO. He recalled all the times Lucifer had similarly vaporized someone, the most memorable victim being Castiel in Stull Cemetery, but a thousand other faces flooded his mind, people and angels he had smited during the Apocalypse. Sam quickly blocked those memories of Lucifer using his body to ruin everything he loved the most. He also thought of how Cas had liquefied Raphael. It took an extraordinary amount of power to do that to a body. Gabriel was certainly capable, but it was not really his style. _Could it really be Lucifer? Only one way to find out…_

They spent the day prowling around town, looking anywhere and everywhere for the Trickster. While initially seeking them out for the pleasure of killing Dean, he had recently decided it was his turn to hide. Sam had learned quickly it was in their best interest to look for him, lest they wanted Dean to be killed in a particularly slow and painful way, like the time he had his body torn up by a lawnmower or when he was slowly crushed to death in a garbage truck.

By evening, they'd found the Trickster tending roses in a quaint walled-in garden. "Lucifer!" Sam called, announcing both his presence and his realization. Upon seeing them, the Trickster sprayed them with the hose, which turned out to contain acid instead of water.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam groaned with frustration as usual when he woke in that cursed motel room, but this time, acute pain enveloped his senses. _The fuck?!_ Sam looked down to see his arms covered in tiny raw spots. Upon taking off his shirt, he saw the flecks of red were there as well, though less numerous.

"Jeez Sam, I didn't ask for a show," Dean jested. The humor on his face fell away as he noticed what had caught his brother's attention. He frowned. "Either you have the worst case of bedbugs ever or something is going on."

With horror, Sam realized these were acid burns. This was new. "Definitely something else." Sam picked at the marks, lost in thought. He'd never retained any items, marks, or injuries from the day before, only memories. Then it must be Lucifer. Only Lucifer could change the rules like this… As he reopened his mind to the possibility of Lucifer being the architect of his current predicament, panic began to infiltrate. It felt too much like the cage.

"Care to share with the class, Sam?"

Sam bit his lip. "Dean, you're not going to believe me, but we're stuck in a time loop. And I'm being antagonized by a bigger evil than we ever thought possible. But seriously, Dean, forget it. I got it."

Dean scoffed incredulously. "Yeah, we're stuck in a time loop and something huge is after you, but yeah, whatever, forget it. Done."

"Good," Sam growled, the fabric chafing his oozing wounds as he walked to the door. He grabbed the handle and pulled forward. Footsteps approached and a large hand pushed the door shut. "Dean, leave it."

Dean grabbed his shoulder and spun Sam around. "No, Sam, I won't 'leave it.'" Sam found the finger quotes rather annoyed him.

"For once, please, trust me, okay? There is nothing you can do to help."

Irritation made itself known in Dean's frown. "Man, you really know how to make a guy feel valuable…"

"It's not about you, Dean. Let it go. It's up to me to figure this out." Sam's agitation was increasing by the minute.

"I'm not useless. Don't you ever count me out." Dean spoke in a low voice, his frustration blossoming into anger. _Why is Sam talking like this? Who the hell is he to tell me what I can and can't do?_

Sam stamped his foot impatiently. "I never said you were. But this one thing, I gotta do it, and it's better if you stay here." He turned and opened the door again. Dean once again closed it with an outstretched hand. Sam whirled and pushed Dean away, giving him enough time to slip out the door.

Dean recovered instantly and followed him out. "Don't you run away from me, Sam." Dean bounded after him and caught his sleeve. Sam raised a fist to strike but Dean was faster, nailing Sam in the eye as he twisted to hit Dean. Sam dropped his things and punched back, causing Dean to lose his balance and topple over the balcony.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam tried to open his eyes but only one cooperated. Exploratory fingers found warm, puffy tissue and what was sure to be a deep purple bruise. And the acid burns hadn't healed one bit. How was he supposed to hide this from Dean? He waited until Dean was in the bathroom.

"Dean," he called, "I'm gonna go get breakfast. Want anything?"

"What's the rush? You haven't even brushed your teeth, you pig," Dean teased.

"I'm just really hungry is all. I'll do it when I come back."

"Okay fine. You know what'll make me happy."

"Yeah, something greasy and life-threatening…" Sam said to himself. He threw on his jeans and scampered out, hoping Dean would stay behind. Mercifully, the door remained closed so Sam headed to the diner, keeping an eye out for the Trickster or Lucifer. He ordered food and waited at the counter, sipping coffee. The waiter filled his cup and he absent-mindedly took a sip while it was still steaming hot. His hand jolted back as he burned his tongue. He was about to ask for an ice cube when an ambulance went by, sirens wailing, towards their motel. _Dean._

Forgoing their food, Sam ran back to the motel in time to see Dean being carried out on a stretcher, a blade sticking out of his chest. He could tell the EMTs were working desperately to save him.

"That's him! He just left the room! He did it!" a voice shouted. Sam turned towards the sound and saw the woman pointing at him.

A police officer approached him. "Put your hands in the air!" He took a step closer.

"I didn't do anything! He's my brother!"

"I said, put your hands in the air!"

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"But I'm innocent. I haven't done anything!"

"You're right, you didn't seek, Sam." Understanding spread through Sam but it was too late. His reward for disobedience was a taser to the thigh. As he fell to the ground convulsing, he heard the EMTs shout that Dean had flatlined.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Both his tongue and leg burned painfully as he registered consciousness. He rose and went to the bathroom to examine his newest wound. Peeling his sweatpants down, he saw the raised, angry red snakebite of the taser prongs. At least this one would be easy to hide from Dean. He sighed. He needed to play the game, play his role, or else Dean would suffer more. He grabbed a long-sleeve shirt as to hide his other wounds.

"Dean," Sam called from the bathroom. "I have a hunch that the Trickster is behind this guy's disappearance."

Dean poked his head around the corner. "The Trickster, huh? Alright. I'll get the stakes ready." Dean paused a beat. "Hey, what happened to your eye?"

 _Fuck, my eye is still messed up,_ Sam remembered. "Uh, I tripped and hit myself breaking my fall."

Dean looked dubious but ultimately bought it. "Really, Sam? You are such a klutz."

After an unsuccessful day of searching for any sign of the Trickster, the brothers retired to a bar. Frustration had drilled a migraine into Sam's head and he couldn't tolerate the bustling din surrounding him. He excused himself and dashed into the bathroom, relieved to be the only occupant enjoying the near-silence.

Or so he thought.

"Hiya, Sammy," a voice, _that voice_ , called from a stall. Sam moved to run but the door out locked and panic seized him. The door of the bathroom stall slowly, painfully, creaked open and Lucifer stepped out, smiling like a cat who'd cornered its prey. For that's what Sam was, Lucifer's prey, now and forever.

"So it's been you, this whole time?" Sam said shakily.

Lucifer grinned. "I really had you going for a while, though, didn't I?" He laughed, pleased with himself. He approached, backing Sam up against the wall. He reached out and took the stake from Sam's belt. He ran the tips of his fingers up and down the wood. "And what a shame that this," he wiggled the bloody timber, "will do nothing to me, but so much to you..." He dragged the tip down Sam's arms, liberating blood from and capturing splinters in Sam's skin.

Sam closed his eyes and willed this to end. "Wake up, wake up," he begged his brain.

"Uh, uh, uh, Sammy. You can't escape til I say so."

"Then, please, do whatever you want to me, but just leave Dean alone."

Lucifer laughed incredulously. "Leave him alone? Never! But, because you asked so nicely, I'll be generous and kill him quickly."

As if on cue, the door swung open, revealing Dean's concerned face, which Lucifer immediately decorated with a pike through his mouth and into his brain. Sam gasped and Lucifer smiled cordially as he ripped it out and blew Sam a kiss.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam turned and balled himself up in the blanket, fighting the tears filling his eyes. It was one thing for Sam to suffer, but to drag Dean into it was unfair. Not that Lucifer ever gave a shit about fairness.

"That's where you're wrong, Sam." Lucifer's voice was dangerously close. Sam bolted upright and looked over to see Dean in a headlock, scrabbling desperately for freedom. "My desire for fairness is was got me banished. I didn't think it _fair_ or _just_ that God's magnificent angels had to bow down to disgusting, broken, imperfect humans. Fairness is _very_ important to me! But, at the moment, not quite as important as making your entire existence agony."

He lurched forward and grabbed Sam's throat. "Let's see who dies first!" He tightened his hold around Dean. Both humans fought the archangel, successful only in enhancing their own suffering. After a few minutes, Dean's arms slowed and his body relaxed as his brain was starved of oxygen.

Lucifer smiled. "I knew I picked a winner!" He released Sam and snapped his fingers. The loud crunch of Dean's neck removed any doubt as to Dean's prognosis.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment…"_

Sam whimpered as waves of consciousness broke on the shoreline of his mind. He was so tired, so mangled. Every injury he had sustained he carried with him into the next day. In addition to his previous marks and an ever-growing patchwork of bruises, he had accumulated six broken fingers, a fractured wrist, a dislocated knee and jaw, whip marks, severe lacerations on his calf, two sprained ankles, a pierced eardrum, a punctured lung, radiation poisoning, and more mental scars than he could count.

But he had to get up and play the game. Or else Lucifer would torture them both.

"Dean?" he cried out weakly.

"Sammy?!" Dean ran over and pulled the blankets back, dropping them in shock as he saw Sam's battered body in a sea of red. "What the fuck?!"

Sam breathed in shallowly, preparing to explain himself for the umpteenth time. He had gone through several iterations before finding a story that Dean would accept. "You're not gonna believe me," he wheezed, "but this is the Trickster. We didn't kill him last time, and he's a little bitter about the whole attempted staking thing. So he has us stuck in a time loop where you die every day and I accumulate injuries."

Dean considered Sam's explanation, doubt fading and fear taking its place. "I mean, that does sound like him… Sucks the stake didn't work. So, how do we get out of it?"

"I'm not sure yet. Working on it. But I know we gotta find him, try to get him to break the loop by any means necessary." Sam recited as he had so many mornings before.

"Okay. But can you even walk?"

"Don't have a choice." He swung his legs out from the bed and carefully put his weight on his screaming ankles. He dragged himself along slowly, internally begging Lucifer for this to end. Real or not, the archangel still had immense control over Sam's reality.

Staggering behind Dean, they left for their daily search. Some days they played hide and seek, other they played tag. Sam hoped it was a hide and seek day. He couldn't bear having to flee in his condition. Turning the corner, he saw Lucifer lounging at an outdoor table, a glass with a little umbrella in front of him.

"I found him, Dean."

"Really? Lemme see." Dean carefully poked his head around. "I don't see him."

"He's there. He has a bright pink drink."

"The blonde guy?" Dean asked, dubious.

"Yeah, the blonde guy."

Dean looked back to Sam, frowning. "That's not what he looked like before."

Sam suppressed a growl. "I know, Dean, it's just the face he's using." Sam was tiring of having the same discussions over and over again.

"Okay, okay, fine. Let's go." They turned the corner together, only to have Lucifer standing directly before them, drink in hand.

Sam pushed his brother and urged him to run, but Dean wouldn't budge. "What the hell are you drinking? I know you like sweet stuff but that's kinda girly looking…"

Lucifer smiled and walked forward so that Sam was now standing in front of Dean, who was backed up against the wall. "Oh, it's pink Kinky and Sprite. Very refreshing. Quite like the Kinky. Sam would know," Lucifer added suggestively.

Sam held back the tremble threatening his body as he heard Dean ask "What?"

Lucifer grinned and manifested his angel blade. He stepped closer and put the point under Sam's chin, tilting his head up. "Oh, Sam, this has been so much fun fucking with you. But it's not really very exciting anymore. You've got no fight left." He dragged the blade down Sam's shirt, enjoying the frantic hitching of Sam's breath. "So time to change it up again. Back to your regularly scheduled torture. See ya on the flipside!" Lucifer smiled with glee before driving the angel blade through both Sam's and Dean's hearts in one fluid motion without even spilling a drop of his cocktail.

* * *

Sam woke with a shout on his lips and Dean's hands on his face. He blinked forcefully, pushing down all he had just experienced.

"Sammy? You alright?" Dean asked, worry aging his features.

Sam swallowed against the anxiety in his throat as he looked around the room to take in his surroundings. As he realized he was in the cabin, the tension in his body released. He let his head sink deep into the pillow and pushed out a breath between pursed lips. "I am never taking those fucking painkillers again," he stated firmly.

Dean sat back and frowned. "Why not? What happened?"

"Because that seriously sucked ass. Worst trip ever. I was trapped back in the time loop again."

Dean's face contorted in confusion. "Time loop?"

Sam groaned with frustration. "Of course you wouldn't remember it. That time we ran into the Trickster, before we knew it was Gabriel? And you kept dying over and over again?"

"Oh yeah, that town in Florida with the stupid Mystery Spot."

Sam nodded as he tried to prop himself up but found his head spun. He sighed as he lowered himself back down into the cushions. "Well, I had to live through it a bunch more times. You kept dying and there was nothing I could do. And then I started accumulating injuries."

Lucifer was sitting on the arm of the couch, looking down at him, smiling. "Took you forever to catch on, Sammy. You're getting rusty."

Dean grimaced. "Okay, that does sound bad. How many more times?"

"I lost count," Sam bit out. "At least fifty. Only way to get out was for me to die."

Dean grunted noncommittally. "Would some joe clear your head? Brewed a fresh pot not too long ago."

"Sure. And something to read. I need a distraction." _From me?_ Lucifer mouthed, offended, as he gestured to himself. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yes, your highness," Dean quipped as he lumbered to the counter on a single crutch. "Anything to eat?"

"Some toast would be fine. Not too hungry."

Dean frowned. Sam was going to wither away before his eyes. Hopefully the toast wound remind him how great actual food was. Not that Sam appreciated the best things life had to offer…

He carefully returned to Sam with a cup of coffee, who gratefully accepted the warm mug. He held it against his chest to push away the last of the cold that lingered in his bones. He leaned his head forward to take a sip when he felt a burst of ice on the base of his neck that turned his blood to slush. "Uh-uh, Sam, you can't get rid of me that easily," Lucifer chided. Sam tipped the cup towards his face and gulped down the steaming liquid, relishing the painful scorching sensation consuming his tongue, cheeks, and throat.

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed, concerned Sam would burn himself.

Setting the drained cup on the coffee table, Sam waved away Dean's attention. "I'm fine." Sam looked around and found Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. "I'm extra-fine." Sam smiled wearily. Dean inhaled to rebuke his little brother but Sam was having none of it. "Got something for me to read?" he asked quickly, changing the subject before Dean could lay into him. Dean tossed him a book from the stack and hobbled outside to cool down.

* * *

Sam was sprawled out on the couch reading when his tormentor returned. The letters on the page started to come alive, wiggling away from their set place. Sam rubbed his eyes, maybe he was just tired. When he looked again, the shapes knit together to form a demonic face. He pressed his hand and the words realigned themselves in an orderly fashion. He glanced at Dean, who was pretending not to notice. He sighed and went back to reading some nun's revelation about purgatory.

Lucifer was relentless, constantly trying to find new ways to capture Sam's attention. Cutting the power, tickling his feet, even sending a Hellhound after Dean. Each time, his victim ignored him for as long as he could bear before resorting to his banishment tactic. Lucifer was clearly getting frustrated and a small kernel of hope blossomed within Sam. Maybe he really could beat the devil again.

Half an hour had passed without any interruption from Lucifer. Sam knew better than to believe he had given up, but the time alone was a welcome respite. He shifted his weight on the couch, trying to get comfortable as he settled in for another long bout of page turning. Something poked at his back from between the cushions. Reaching down he pulled out an empty soda bottle. "Dude, don't you know how to clean up after yourself?" He threw the plastic bottle at Dean.

"Sorry, man. Having one working leg makes you a little lazy. Careful what else is down there. I'm missing my pocket knife, too." Sam wasn't sure if Dean was joking. Better safe than sorry, Sam gingerly sank his weight down into the cushions. Feeling nothing unusual he settled back into his afternoon routine.

It wasn't long before he again started to feel pressure against his side. Sam wriggled awkwardly, hoping to displace the object. No such luck. "You are disgusting, Dean," he said with exasperation, turning so he could fish out whatever garbage Dean had stuffed there. Propped up on one arm, the other reached between the cushions. Without warning, a searing pain pierced his side. "Found your fucking pocket knife, asshole!" he growled. He looked down to carefully remove the blade and instead saw four fingers digging into his flesh. Lucifer materialized around the hand, a psychotic grin on his face as he crouched over Sam's legs. Before he had time to react, Lucifer shoved his entire hand into Sam's abdominal cavity. He gasped in agony and jammed his thumb into his cut, expecting release. Despite the pain, nothing happened.

Lucifer crawled on top of him, his face inches from Sam's. "No, no, no, Sammy. You knew yourself it would stop working at some point. Guess it was just a little sooner than you thought. No worries, I'll make this worth your while." He punched his cold hand up towards Sam's ribs, ripping through the diaphragm. Sam thrashed in response, the misery absolutely intolerable. The devil pressed his weight down more to prevent his prey from escaping. He caressed each rib as he passed it, feeling the Enochian warding carved into the bone. "Too bad Cassowary's artwork is just that: pretty little doodles, powerless against me. I'll always find you, Sam." Lucifer was in up to his elbow as he reached his vessel's heart.

Sam was convulsing with violent agony, everything in him wishing for death. Lucifer curled his icy fingers around the beating muscle, grinning at the erratic, frantic pace with which the organ moved. Sam felt him stroke it, like he was petting an animal. "You are mine, Sammy. Heart," and he gave the tissue a quick squeeze, "body, and soul. You will never be rid of me." Sam tried to fight against him but he was struggling to breathe. Lucifer sighed with contentment. "It just feels _so good_ to be inside you, Sam. I missed this. The warm thrum of your body against mine," he shuddered in ecstasy, "I want to stay like this forever." He laid his head on Sam's broad chest.

Sam was vaguely aware of Lucifer's other hand sliding along his side, picking the perfect place to enter his defenseless body. Delirious with pain, Sam sensed his brain shutting down. Lucifer cut him open again and pushed his other arm into Sam's warm, pulsing flesh. Sam's body arched in refusal, almost throwing his torturer off. "Ah, ah, ah, that's no way to play, Sammy!" he scolded. He pulled out his left hand and slowly moved up Sam's torso, walking his blood-soaked fingers up the quivering skin. Profound fear stole Sam's breath; he remembered this from the cage. "Coming back to us now, huh?" The fingers wrapped around the base of his neck and with a brief _pop_ , Sam felt his body go limp. Paralyzed. But still able to feel. Completely at Lucifer's mercy. "Those irksome little motor neurons. Not as hardy as they claim to be, right Sam?"

Lucifer returned his hand to its place inside Sam, crawling its way slowly to his windpipe. Massaging the fragile structure, Lucifer listened happily to the desperate gurgles in Sam's neck. He pulled Sam up in an embrace and savored the moment of oneness with his vessel. "Been a long time since I felt this close to you, Sammy dear. We really need to do this more often." The tenderness in his voice was almost comforting. Then he simultaneously crushed Sam's heart and trachea as he pulled the vital organs from his body. Sam had only seconds to appreciate his still-beating heart before nothingness consumed him.

* * *

A groan from the couch told Dean his brother was stirring. "Yo, you awake? You want somethin' to drink?" Dean asked over his shoulder as he plucked a beer from the fridge. No off the cap, he absentmindedly tossed it towards the trashcan. He turned to rouse his brother and was greeted by Sam's body shaking uncontrollably. Throwing the beer into the sink, he dashed to his side. "Hey, hey, c'mon, it's just a dream." He lightly slapped Sam's cheek but he didn't wake. The body beneath his seemed possessed as it started to fight against Dean's presence. Fists, elbows, and knees shot out, flailing missiles aimed at his imagined attacker. Dean grabbed his wrists and pinned his thighs, hoping to minimize the damage. "Sam, stop fighting. I'm here. I've got you, not Lucifer."

Familiar laughter dominated his senses as Sam flicked open bloodshot eyes. Hazy faces were moving silently in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping clarity would return when he next opened them. Testing his theory, he peeked through his eyelids nervously. Dean was inches from his face, utter panic painting his features with horrid desperation. Warm hands cupped the side of his face.

"You in there, little brother?" The sweet chime of Dean's voice drowned out the cruel laughter. He tilted his head forward in confirmation. "Oh, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, relief flooding his frame. "What the hell is he doing to you? Will this ever stop?"

Sam let his head sink into the sweat-soaked cushion. "I don't think so. 180 years and it didn't stop. Why would it stop now?" He shrugged weakly. "Lucifer is so filled with hate for me and humanity... it's all he is now. He despises my betrayal, says I'm worse than Michael. I was made for him and I rejected him. I... can almost... see his point," Sam said haltingly, not totally comfortable with admitting that.

Dean patiently listened but his expression turned to rage at the end. "You can almost see his point?" Dean punched him hard across the jaw. "Everything he did to you and you empathize with that sick fuck?" Dean raised his fist to strike again, but lowered it, resignation splashing his strong features. "No wonder you said 'yes.' You're too far gone, even for me, Sammy."

"No, Dean, that's not what I meant. I-I just mean I can understand why he's mad. I don't think he's right, not by a long shot!" Sam tried to sound forceful but the underlying pleading was more evident than he intended. "Please, don't give up on me now," he said softly, holding his brother's hardened eyes. "Don't leave me, I need you," he choked out, ending in a strangled whisper.

Dean's expression softened and he grinned unexpectedly. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, Sammy. I need you, too." Sam was confused. Something was wrong. "Don't worry, I won't leave you, _ever_." With the emphasis on the last word, Sam realized his mistake. _Shit, that's not Dean._ "You've always been so gullible, Sam!" He had a moment to contemplate his error before Lucifer ripped through him, liberating his heart from his living body once again.

* * *

Consciousness snapped at Sam like a wet rag. The sting of sensation made him instantly alert. He remembered to breathe and greedily swallowed air. An achy burning spread through his chest. He reached for his heart, to check it was still in place, but found he could not move. He cried out weakly, more a resigned moan. He thought he heard Dean's voice. He let his body go limp, bracing for the vicious assault. It didn't come and he waited. Lucifer was just toying with him. He should have known better before. _God, I'm so stupid. Haven't you learned anything from Hell, you bumbling fuckwit?_ He did not dare open his eyes. Instead he attempted to recede into the darkest corner of his mind and hide.

* * *

"Dude, you gotta hear this," Dean mused from the bed. "This parishioner in Wisconsin swears he was chosen to bear witness to the Second Coming of Christ. Wouldn't that be something? Teaming up with the big JC to take down the Leviathans? Jesus with a semi-automatic? That'd be fucking awesome!" He frowned at the silence. "What, did I offend your delicate ideas about religion, Sam?" Still no answer. Dean bunched his eyebrows. _That's weird._ "Sam? Don't tell me you're asleep again. You just woke up like three hours ago!"

Taking a crutch, Dean propelled himself upwards. "Hey, you awake?" He looked over the back of the couch and was alarmed by the sight in front of him. Sam was convulsing soundlessly, his eyes rolled back in his head, and blood seeping out of his nose and mouth. "SAM!" Dean shouted, flinging himself over the furniture. "Wake up, wake up," he shook his shoulders but the movement just scattered small flecks of blood over Sam's face. Dean slapped him but there was no response. He put a cloth in Sam's mouth to stop him from biting his tongue, though it looked like he already had judging by the sea of red around him. He tried the old faithfuls: cold water, hot water, a punch to the nuts, a gunshot by the head. Still his brother shook. Scrambling for his cell phone, Dean dialed Bobby. "It-It's Sam. He's shaking and bleeding and I can't wake him up. I've tried everything, Bobby, what do I do?" He bundled Sam up into his arms and tried to stop the shaking.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. He was fine one minute and the next he's like this. I think he dozed off, maybe?"

"Didn't Lucifer used to come to him in his dreams? To convince him to be his vessel?"

"Yeah, but this isn't actually Lucifer," Dean countered, unsure where Bobby was going.

"We don't actually know that for sure," Bobby replied, trying to keep his voice even.

"No. You're joking, right? No, that's just not—" Dean was interrupted by the savage contortion of Sam's body as his back arched and he let out a gargled cry that was cut short before he collapsed into the couch, motionless. "S-Sam?" Dean squeaked, dropping the phone. "Sammy, God! Sammy, don't give up," he begged. "I'm here, I gotcha, I gotcha."

Dean let Sam's head fall back into the couch as he reached for a pulse. It was rapid and fading. "You can't die on me!" Dean shouted. He dropped Sam's body, ripped out the rag, and put his mouth to Sam's, blowing in as much air as his lungs could spare and performing CPR as best he could remember. "You're not dying today, godammit!" A few coordinated actions and Sam was struggling to inhale against the weight of his frantic sibling. "Sam, please tell me you're in there. Sam?" A pause in the tension, then he felt Sam stiffen and try to reach. He continued his hold. It was only as his brother's body went limp beneath him that he noticed the tear tracks.

* * *

Dean lifted Sam's deadweight and slid himself under Sam's shoulders. He stroked Sam's head the way their mother used to soothe Dean after a nightmare. His other hand carefully wiped away the drying blood that decorated his brother's face. Dean thought back to his own time in Hell. It tore at him even now, all that had been done to him and what he had done to others. There was no forgetting or forgiving that. Sam had forgiven him; well, Sam would forgive him for torturing anyone, including himself. And in a way he had tortured his little brother. He knew what Hell was. He had been there and back and still, despite the scars on his soul, he went along with Sam's plan. He never regretted anything so much as not stopping his brother from flinging himself into an eternity of suffering. Dean had survived his stay in Hell, just barely. Though he was far better off than Sam.

A flare of vanity streaked across Dean's mind: he considered himself stronger than Sam. His baby brother was so transparent, too feeling. He didn't have the inner constitution of a hunter. Sam was so delicate. Of course he would be crippled after emerging from Hell. How had Dean expected anything else? His soft little brother under Lucifer's knife—suddenly his mind was filled with the image of Lucifer smiling in Detroit, "Fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you-u," his singsong voice ringing out.

Who was he kidding? _Lucifer._ They were talking about fucking Satan here. Not Meg, not Alastair. They seemed like pre-school ballerinas compared to Lucifer's depravity. Sam was kept like an abused dog by Lucifer for 180 years. Even then, the kid had woken up to save Bobby and his brother from their rogue angel. Angels. Those dicks. He thought he was too proud to let Michael take him, but he realized now it was pure fear. Whether it was fear that he would die or fear that he could no longer protect Sam, he wasn't sure. But he had refused while Sam charged bravely ahead, willing to sacrifice anything for the world, for redemption, for Dean. Shame burned in Dean's cheeks. He punished himself mentally for the revolting pride he had felt moments before. Sam was more of a fighter than Dean had ever been. He had broken after thirty years in Hell. A tiny splinter of the suffering Sam must have experienced. And Dean had let him do it. A year and a half his brother rotted in the cage. A year he lived with Lisa and Ben, trying to keep a promise while his sole purpose for existing drowned in fire and blood. If it weren't for that djinn, he still might be at Lucifer's mercy—or lack thereof.

Dean shuddered to remember Sam in front of him in his garage. Sam, but somehow not Sam. How had he missed that? Sam without his soul? Perhaps he was so relieved to have his brother back, to have that guilt lifted, that he failed to realize it wasn't his brother at all. And all those months, Sam was still with Lucifer. Dean hung his head, unable to support the heavy weight of his failure.

A wheezing cough brought him back to reality. He zipped everything up tight as he scanned Sam's face. Pain tugged at the corner of Sam's lips as his eyelids fluttered open. Sam turned away from the ambient light and buried himself into Dean's stomach, his trembling hands digging into his sides. Sam didn't know who or what he clutched, but it felt warm and safe. He felt a hand stroking his head and he froze for a second, fearful of Lucifer's caress. So often, it was a prelude to the worst torture. But the hand continued, not leaving its spot in search of Sam's vulnerability. "D-d-dean?" Sam breathed, his voice so soft Dean thought he had imagined it.

"What did he do to you, Sammy?" His voice came out louder than he had anticipated and Sam flinched. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured and pulled Sam in tight. "You're here now, with me. Don't worry."

Sam pushed away from him and sat up. He eyed Dean carefully, suspiciously. Sam quickly sank his thumb into the bandaged wound and smiled when blood seeped up to meet him. "It's really you, Dean," he exclaimed, clearly fatigued, and flung himself at his brother in a bruising embrace.

Dean was momentarily perplexed until it occurred to him that Lucifer probably tortured Sam with Dean's face. _Oh, I am gonna get this son of a bitch,_ Dean vowed to himself, regardless of the fact he had no way to make good on that promise. "You... I couldn't wake you. I tried, man, I really did."

Sam's dull eyes suddenly beamed with empathy and a smirk danced on his chapped lips. "Well, you kind of succeeded," Sam scoffed. Dean obviously wasn't following. Subconsciously Sam ran his hands over his unblemished sides and inhaled deeper than was necessary to explain. "I was sitting here reading and he attacked me. Jammed his hands into me, practically wore me," Sam said casually as if discussing the weather.

Dean's eyes widened. _Wore him? What the hell does that mean? How is he so fucking calm?_

"Then," he shrugged, "ripped out my heart and my throat, I died, then I felt you waking me up." Dean opened his mouth, whether to ask for more explanation or counter the one he was already giving, Sam wasn't sure. He continued. "When I woke up, you were there, I mean I really thought it was you." He sighed, as if disappointed with himself. "It wasn't. Just Lucifer, taunting me, making me beg for you —for him— not to leave me." Sam rolled his eyes to mask his pain. "To which he responded by pulling my heart out again." He let out a tired laugh. "He really is good at this."

Dean couldn't bear to look his brother in the eye, much less share this perverse appreciation for Lucifer's skills. Dean had failed to save Sam from another death by Lucifer's hands. From the sounds of it, literally. _Wore? He doesn't mean, no, he couldn't mean…_ "When you say wore, you don't mean like, 'to the prom,' right? Not like when you said 'yes'?"

Sam arched an eyebrow, oddly intrigued by the question. "No…" he answered slowly, watching the expressions change on Dean's face. Clearly he wanted more of an explanation. "I mean he-" Sam couldn't feign emotionless strength any longer, and his voice cracked, "he cut me open with his bare hands," he motioned absently to his stomach, "and stuck in each arm like I was a fucking sock puppet. Held my beating heart in his hand 'til he crushed the life out of it." The visage of Lucifer impaling his arm through Baldur came to mind and Dean exiled it as quickly as he could. He focused on Sam. His face was contorted with pain and self-directed anger towards his helplessness. "You," and his tone was almost accusatory, "you have no idea, Dean. What I've lived through, what I've died through." His voice softened. "And I really hope you never do."

Dean swallowed against the swarm of emotions clawing up his throat. He couldn't shake the image of Lucifer's arms covered in Sam's blood, inside him. Dean was afraid to look at him, should his brother's shredded, heartless corpse suddenly take his place. Dean bit his tongue to center himself and gazed at Sam. His brother was alarmingly stoic in the wake of this last round. Maybe he was just too tired to care. Upon further examination, Dean could see that fine lines sprung from his sunken eyes. His skin was dry and pale. He noticed he slight trembling of his lips, his hands, his entire body. "What can I do, Sam? I just want to help you but," and he hated admitting this, "I don't know how."

Sam smiled. The first genuine smile Dean had seen in a while. "I think it's getting better-"

"Bullshit!" Dean interrupted.

Sam's lips wiggled with amusement. "You didn't let me finish." He looked expectantly at Dean and he motioned with his hands to continue. "It's getting better when I'm awake. But it's worst when I sleep. Like I'm powerless against him. I tried to press the cut in my dream and it didn't work."

Dean made a noncommittal noise. "Well, there's always the tried and true method," he suggested with mock cheerfulness. Sam cocked an eyebrow, lost. "Like you've never done it!" Dean threw the words at him but still Sam didn't understand. Dean nodded towards the bottles on the coffee table. He reached for an almost-empty bottle but Sam put up a hand.

"Dean…" He had that annoyed, condescending, holier-than-thou tone that usually bugged the shit out of Dean, but today he found it endearing. "I did not escape Hell to die of liver failure by 35." Dean couldn't help but smile. It was refreshing to see Sam's sass.

"My liver's fine," Dean countered, taking a swig of the warm beer.

"Uh-huh, sure," Sam replied, sincerely doubting that.

"Okay, then, what else do we got?" Dean fiddled with his lower lip as he listed off suggestions. "Um, Benadryl, pot, sleeping pills-"

"No, I don't want something like that. I mean, it's not like that's really worked out so far," Sam interrupted sharply.

"Sam, some nice chamomile tea or yoga isn't really gonna cut it. You'll need something a little stronger."

Sam chuckled but there were shadows in his eyes. "I-" he paused, remorse heavy in his voice and clouding his face "-I've already been addicted once in my life. It's what got us here in the first place. I'm not doing anything that can compromise me like that again." _Don't do this to yourself,_ Dean thought. "Plus," his voice took on a happier inflection, "I need to be sharp once you get that cast off and we're back to hunting."

Dean spit out his beer. "Hunting!?" he exclaimed.

"I'm not planning on retiring anytime soon. Did I miss a memo or something?"

"No, Sam, it's just-" _you're hardly in the right frame of mind to be hunting. I can't even let you out of my sight!_ "It's gonna take a while for my leg to heal. Can't exactly fight demons on crutches."

"A few weeks, right? I can't just sit here all that time. Gotta be some local things."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Uh-uh. No solo hunts." He tried to sound calm but he shook his head emphatically.

"Why not? I could handle a simple salt and burn."

Dean was becoming irritated. "You can't be serious. When have solo hunts ever been a good idea?" Sam shrugged. Sam's lack of concern for his own safety set Dean off. "Have you fucking lost your mind?" Sam opened his mouth to give a smart-ass response but Dean pre-empted him. "Don't you dare say it. Look, a week ago, you were waving a gun around, shooting at nothing. You can't honestly expect me to let you go out there by yourself. I don't like you hunting alone on a good day. Over my dead body are you hunting with Lucifer in tow. It's too dangerous. You gotta see that."

Defiance shone in Sam's eyes but he acquiesced. "I guess I thought if I could distract myself, keep myself busy, I'd be less...susceptible."

Dean sighed. "I hear you, Sam, but that's just not an option right now. Half the time you don't even know what's real. How is that going to work out on a hunt?" He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. Surely Sam knew better than this.

Sam's shoulders drooped and Dean knew he'd won. This time, at least. "You're right. I can't do this, I just... want to. I suppose patience is a virtue," he drawled, eyeing Dean's encased leg.

"Dude, don't have to tell me twice. Get us a beer?" Obediently, Sam fetched two bottles from the fridge and sunk into the couch beside Dean, who turned on the TV. He handed the remote to Sam to pick something. Sipping absently on his beer, he watched his baby brother. Sam concentrated with all his might on the random commercial dancing across the screen. His eyes occasionally glanced at the empty chair a few feet away from the TV but he refocused his gaze and eventually settled into the couch comfortably.

* * *

Once Sam seemed to be contentedly watching TV, he rose to make them dinner. Sam needed food and sleep, in that order. The dark bags under Sam's eyes enhanced his already gaunt features. He had lost weight during his coma and the exhaustion was not helping his appetite. Dean resisted stabbing his knife through the chicken breast he was preparing. This was too frustrating for him to bear. He needed Sam to be okay. Anything else was unacceptable.

He finished slicing the chicken and tossed it on the lettuce. He grabbed the Caesar dressing and a fork. He trudged over to his brother. "Made you a Caesar salad, you rabbit," Dean mocked gently. He frowned when his voice made Sam flinch. The younger Winchester recovered quickly and gratefully took the plate from Dean.

"Thanks. I coulda done that."

Dean shrugged. "I was making myself a real meal. Wasn't too hard to throw some grass in a bowl for ya."

Sam smiled, a genuine smile, and Dean felt his chest loosen a tiny fraction. Maybe Sam could recover from this. "You're just jealous my organs are gonna be working better than yours in twenty years," Sam replied playfully, giving Dean an all-knowing look.

 _Yeah, if you make it that long,_ Dean thought heavily, before pushing the thought away. "What do you mean? Mine work just fine." Sam scoffed. "Whatever. Eat your rabbit food," he softly ordered. Sam chuckled as Dean sank back into the couch and the two resumed watching TV, the only foreign sound the rhythmic crunch of lettuce as Sam ate a meal unperturbed. Dean sighed with relief and dug into his own food, his appetite greatly restored.

* * *

A movie and a half later, Dean caught Sam trying to stifle his yawns. "You want the couch?" Dean offered, hoping Sam would surrender to sleep without a fight.

Sam shook his head. "Nah. I'm okay. Wanna finish this marathon anyway."

Dean stared at him in consternation. "Dude, that's like another five hours. It's already pretty late. You should sleep."

Sam glanced at Dean but found the heat of his glare to be more than he could handle. "I'm not sleepy," Sam replied sheepishly.

"Sam…" Dean let out an annoyed huff. He felt like he was seven again, trying to get a three-year-old Sam to take a nap. "You need to sleep. You won't get better if you don't."

"I know… but… It's not like sleeping actually does me any good. It's too hard to keep him away."

"There has to be something you can do. You can't keep going like this."

Sam shrugged helplessly. "If there is, I haven't found it yet. I was going to—" Sam stopped abruptly, deciding now was not the time to reveal his dream root plan. He paused awkwardly, trying to find something to replace his words.

"Going to what?" Dean asked, clearly irritated. He grabbed the remote and crushed the power button under his finger.

"Keeping things from your brother Sam? You know that always works out _so well_ ," Lucifer capitalized on the fresh silence to murmur in Sam's ear, the devil's cool breath making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Sam clenched his teeth and seemed to be looking at nothing. _Lucifer._ Dean softened his tone. "Sammy?" He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and Sam jolted slightly before looking up at Dean, his eyes almost pleading. _Little toddler Sam._ Dean swallowed his resolve and gave in. Now was not the time to push his fragile little brother. "Okay, we can watch another movie after this one. But no drawing on my face if I pass out first," he ended jokingly, pleased at the way Sam's body relaxed.

"No promises," Sam replied, a smile curling his lips. He held his hand out for the remote and Dean gave it back without a fuss. Sam clicked on the television and resettled himself in his spot, content to let the movie keep Lucifer at bay.

Two hours later, Dean noticed when Sam's weight started to press into him but said nothing. The sound of his brother's breathing had slowed to the point where he was clearly asleep. He hoped Sam could stay that way, at least for a few hours. As important as researching the Leviathan was, keeping Sam healthy and healing had to be the priority. He made a mental note to talk to Bobby about how to help Sam sleep. There had to be a spell or something. Because at this rate, exhaustion would take out his brother before any monster could. And that was no way for a Winchester to die.


	9. Day 9: Part I

**Day 9: Part I**

A/N: Gah, so sorry I didn't update as promised. Life got in the way. I was unhappy with part of the chapter, yadda yadda. Anyway, I hope you accept this 20,000 word chapter (split into three parts) as my apology.

 **WARNINGS: Graphic torture and mentions of rape in Day 9: Part I. Very, very graphic torture, rape, and sexual violence in Day 9: Part II. Torture, suicide, and mentions of rape in Part III.**

Day 9: Part II is written such that it can be skipped and you won't miss any plot if you don't want to read it.

I will be taking a break from this story for a bit so if you want to be informed of the next update, please follow. And please review Day 9. Let me know if it's too much!

Also, totally go listen to the song mentioned in the story. It's badass.

* * *

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* * *

Sam waited until Dean's light snores were audible over the sound of the movie. He was grateful Dean had fallen asleep with the TV on because sitting in silence was much too difficult. He slowly pulled his body away from Dean and carefully rose from the couch. His brother grumbled but didn't otherwise acknowledge the change.

He crept into the kitchen and poured some leftover coffee into a mug. It tasted terrible tepid, but it was better than falling asleep. "Why you gotta play so hard-to-get, Sam?" Lucifer called from the bed, his hand patting the empty space next to him. Sam bit his cheek and focused on finding something to eat. He opened the fridge, only to be disappointed by the scant contents of beer, condiments, and some uncooked hamburger. _Guess we're going shopping…_ He settled for some buttered bread and sat in a chair, determined to wait out the night with bad TV and room temperature coffee.

* * *

His phone chimed with an email alert and he checked it eagerly, hoping it was the delivery notification. His anticipation was rewarded when he saw the email from FedEx, informing him that his package had arrived at the store location and was ready for pickup. Deciding the sun was high enough in the sky and it was time for Dean to wake up, Sam began to move around more loudly. His other motivating factor was that he'd run out of coffee about three hours ago and desperately needed another caffeine fix. Lucifer kept trying to tempt him to sleep by singing lullabies, though the lyrics were decidedly not child-appropriate. Sam almost had to appreciate the ingenuity. _'Mary had a demon Sam / Demon Sam, demon Sam / Mary had a demon Sam / His blood was dark as sin / And every time that Mary died / Mary died, Mary died / And every time that Mary died / Sam did curse his kin'_ was a particular favorite of Lucifer's.

As intended, the clatter and the tantalizing scent of a fresh brew roused Dean from his slumber. "Look at you up all bright and early," Dean commented as he stretched his taut limbs. "How'd you sleep?"

Sam turned away and poured a cup of coffee, knowing Dean could easily read his lying face. "Eh, alright, could have been better," he shrugged.

"Any nightmares?"

"Yeah, the usual."

"What made you wake up?"

"Suffocating has that panic-inducing effect that generally spurs your brain into action, you know?" Sam lied, hoping his flippancy would distract Dean.

Dean considered this momentarily and decided he agreed.

Sam walked over with the cup for Dean. "Do you think you'd be up for going into town today? We've gone through almost all the stuff Bobby bought. Not really much left I would deem edible."

Dean took a deep swig of the coffee and smiled as the warmth percolated through his body. He surveyed the kitchen from the couch. However, what caught his attention was that Sam seemed timid and that bothered him. He tucked away the observation for later. "Sure. Would be good to get out of this little box. It's like we're in some backcountry jail!"

A cold hand slapped Sam's shoulder affectionately and Sam fought the instinctive flinch. "Should make you feel right at home, Sammy. Jail, prison, the cage, whatever. Still trapped here with me."

Sam determinedly avoided Lucifer, keeping his body still despite the physical contact. Dean's revolted groan drew his attention elsewhere. "Man, we gotta do laundry, too." He held up some socks and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The once-white greyish socks had brown bottoms from walking around the less-than-sterile cabin.

"You know, you could just wash your clothes in the sink," Sam offered, failing slightly to withhold his amused scorn.

"You try hobbling around on one leg and washing stuff! Easier said than done."

"Excuses, excuses," Sam returned. "But no big deal. We can wash it and hang it out to dry outside."

"Okay, ya hippy." Dean opened the fridge and frowned at the sparse selection. "You weren't kidding about food choices… Lemme finish this coffee then we can go."

* * *

Sam made a mental note to thank Bobby for everything he had done for them, both in general and in this particular situation. He had rented a car for them to use while he was away meeting with other hunters, knowing better than to leave the two brothers stranded in an unfamiliar place. Dean placed a hand on the passenger side door handle and Sam glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting up front, why?"

"Dean, where the hell are you gonna put your leg?"

Dean looked through the window at the seat. "I'm sure I'd fit if I pushed the seat back. Or I can put it on your lap!" He grinned boyishly.

Sam scoffed. "No way. Backseat for you."

"I'm not going in the backseat!"

"Then you're not going!" Smiling, Sam got in and locked the doors. He started the car and put it into drive.

"Sammy!" Dean pounded on the glass. "Don't you dare leave without me!" Dean actually sounded a little upset so Sam nixed his original idea of driving a few feet just to mess with Dean.

He unlocked the doors. "Dude, I wasn't actually going to leave."

Dean grumbled a non-response as he slid in the back and struggled to arrange himself. Sam waited patiently, knowing better than to insult Dean's pride by offering to help. Once settled, he turned to Sam and politely clapped his hands. "Driver, take me into town, please," he said in a fake English accent.

Sam laughed and took his foot off the brake, happy to be back in a car with Dean. However, by the time he put his foot down on the gas pedal, it was not to continue his years-long road trip with his big brother, but to escape the unwelcome guest in the passenger seat.

* * *

Sam carried Dean's basket of clothes in while Dean followed behind him, complaining about this band or that, a rant that had started minutes ago in the car thanks to some radio DJ. Sam walked to the nearest machine but saw that it was out of order. The next several were in use. He was moving on to another one when Dean asked "What's wrong with these? They look at ya funny or something?"

Sam turned back and looked at Dean quizzically. "What do you mean? That one's broken and those are being used."

"How can you tell it's broken?"

"The sign?" Sam pointed.

"Uh, hate to break it to you, but there's no sign. And these three are free." Sam clenched his teeth as he heard a familiar snicker from behind him. Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Lucifer cares about laundry?"

Sam closed his eyes and nibbled on his cheek. When he opened them, he saw that all the machines were, in fact, functional and available. He sighed. "Guess so. It's more about finding ways to annoy me."

Dean said nothing as Sam transferred the clothes to the machine. Sam flinched as each quarter hit the bottom of the coinbox. "Sam?"

His brother straightened up and pressed the necessary buttons to start the cycle. He turned and shook his head slightly to dissipate the ringing in his ears. "Sounded like gunshots."

Dean frowned but again kept silent. _Is that why Sam had been so weird earlier?_ He thought being out of the cabin would help distract Sam, but maybe it was too much too soon.

Sam pretended not to notice the concerned look on Dean's face. He knew he should be doing better, he should be keeping it together, but disembodied intestines swirling around with the clothes were not exactly the most calming sight. He focused on Dean. "So what were you saying about Journey?" he prompted. Not that he really cared about what Dean thought, but it was better than listening to Lucifer. Anything was better than listening to Lucifer.

* * *

Sam waited until Dean had clicked his seatbelt in the back and started driving. As much as Dean had tried to persuade him, Sam was _not_ going to drive with his brother's broken leg across his lap. "Dean, would you mind if I stopped by the library?" Sam asked, trying to sound casual.

"I mean, sure, you can, but what, you got a hot date or something?" Dean was suspicious. Well, he was right to be, but still, it annoyed Sam.

"No, I just wanted to check to see if there was anything Bobby missed."

"Like Bobby would miss anything!"

Sam shrugged. "You never know. And hey, maybe I wanna pick up some light reading for myself. Going a little stir crazy in the cabin."

"For the last time, Sam, the entire Encyclopedia Britannica does not count as 'light reading'!"

Sam smirked. "Whatever. I read it over a summer."

"Yeah, when you were eight!"

Sam dismissed Dean's jab with a twitch of his shoulders. "So should I drop you off at the diner while I'm in there? At least that way you won't be shopping while hungry!" Sam gave Dean a knowing look through the rearview mirror.

"Sure, ya bookworm. Try to scope out some chicks while you're there. And Sam?" The younger Winchester looked at his brother out of habit. "Jane Austen doesn't count," Dean jested.

Sam rolled his eyes and forced out a chortle but turned away to hide his frown. He honestly wasn't sure he could look at dating and intimacy the same way after his stint in Hell. Lucifer had robbed him of so much, stolen the most sacred parts of his spirit, obliterated what remained of his heart after Jess and Madison. He did not want to be touched by anyone and had no desire to touch others.

Cool hands massaged his shoulders, causing him to jump. "Sam, you make me out to be such a villain!" Lucifer cooed from the backseat.

Sam jabbed his thumb into his palm as quickly as possible, unwilling to entertain this one-sided conversation with his abuser. Dean watched Sam, ensuring he maintained control of the wheel.

The rest of the short drive to the diner was uneventful. Sam helped Dean out of the car. Contrary to his protests, he was grateful for the assistance. This full leg cast was driving him insane. "Should I order you anything?"

Sam shook his head. "Not super hungry. I can wait til we go to the store. I should be back in less than 45 minutes." Sam seized his moment for revenge. "And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to pick up all the waitresses?"

Dean pretended to scowl but couldn't keep a straight face and broke into a smile. "Get out of here, you nerd." Sam gave a mock salute and got back in the car.

He was not, however, alone. "Sam, can I just say, I _love_ this plan? You really think Dean is going to understand and be able to help you heal your boo-boos? This won't work for so many reasons. First, Dean was never very good about all this feeling stuff. You believe that's magically going to change the moment he gets inside your fucked-up melon? Yeah, right. Second, I don't think he's even strong enough to handle it. Sure, he went to Hell and all that jazz, but _let's be real_ , Alastair was always so… _limited_ in his approach. Relied far too heavily on blades and bodily tortures. He didn't appreciate _the mind_ as a plaything nearly as much as he could have. If Dean even agrees, which isn't a given, he has no idea what he's getting himself into. Are you certain Dean can go into your head and come out sane?"

He paused and let that sink in. Sam's expression became grim. "Thirdly, Dean Winchester is a proud man. I can't see him taking well to being related to such a pathetic, simpering piece of trash. How much do you believe in Dean? Are you 100% positive he won't ditch you after he fully comprehends what an incapacitated mess you are? Fourth, and this one really stumps me: Aren't you all 'wah, my autonomy is so important to me. I've been possessed by ghosts and demons and angels. My mind isn't my own anymore. Autonomy this, violation that, I feel so used, wah wah wah!'? Oh, so it's okay for _Dean_ , for _your brother_ to go poking around your brain? That's kind of incestuous, isn't it? One brother inside the other. I wonder what would happen if I made you two—"

Sam gripped the steering wheel with his wounded hand as tightly as he could manage. Lucifer mercifully dissipated before he could finish his perverse thought. Sam sighed. The truth of the matter was that Sam had already considered all of these points and more without Lucifer's council. Despite his apprehensions, he still concluded this was the best option. Dean had to have a firm grasp of the situation if he was going to continue to tolerate Sam, not to mention help him. He knew this was going to be difficult and he regretted the pain it would cause Dean. He comforted himself with the thought that it would be less painful than if Sam ended up dead, at his own hand or a monster's.

 _One in the same,_ Lucifer whispered in his mind and Sam had to slam the car door to escape the subtle reverberation of the devil's voice in his head.

He hurried into the FedEx store and picked up his package. He returned to the car and unwrapped it. He screwed open the jar and gently wafted the fragrance towards his face. The odor confirmed the substance's identity. _Definitely dream root._ His anxiety assuaged, he went to the library to follow through on his cover. He picked up some books on meditation and trances (Lucifer laughed at him for that. "Cute," he had commented, peering through the bookstacks.) as well as some actual light reading. Dean was correct; Bobby hadn't missed anything remotely relevant.

Returning to the diner, Sam alerted Dean with a text. His brother came limping out shortly afterwards, waving a scrunched up napkin in his hand. The grin on his face told Sam exactly what it was. Sam chuckled as Dean loaded himself into the car. "Dude, how do you even do that?"

Dean smiled smugly. "Broken leg or not, when you got the goods, the ladies notice."

Sam shook his head, his chest heaving a little as he suppressed a giggle. Dean was ridiculous. "It's certainly impressive."

Dean eyed the small stack of books on the front seat. "Catching up on your latest romance novels?"

"Why do you need to read romance novels, Sam? You have a _devoted companion_ right here!" Lucifer purred. He blew Sam a kiss and Sam pressed down on the accelerator a little more as his shoulders wilted. Sam didn't answer either jabs and the silence was noticeable. Dean frowned at the changes, unsure how to help his stricken little brother. The dark circles under his eyes told Dean that Sam had not slept as well as he'd claimed.

"Sam!" Dean said as they drove past the grocery store. "I thought you wanted to get food?"

Sam became alert and frowned. "Sorry," he murmured and turned around. "Do you wanna come in or would it be easier if you hung out here?"

Dean pondered it for a moment. Honestly, bumbling around the grocery store on crutches didn't sound like a good time, he was in pain, but he didn't want to abandon Sam, either. "Would you be okay on your own?" Dean asked carefully, not wanting to offend Sam.

He surreptitiously glanced at his undesired partner in the passenger seat then back at Dean. "I think I can handle it. You want anything?"

"Just the usual."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, junk food and beef."

"And pie!"

"Duh."

Dean offered a rude gesture as a response and Sam closed the door and walked away. Concentrating on staying alone, he didn't see Dean pop three painkillers.

Lucifer was instantly by his side, reading off a grocery list. "Tomatoes, salt, infant toes, vinegar, ex-lover's heart, two gallons of fresh cat blood, bamboo skewers, ooh, and we definitely need some fudge pops." Sam ignored him and walked into the store. He reached forward for a shopping cart and instinctively froze when Lucifer cried out. "No! Not that one! I'm sure it's covered in chikungunya virus. And I bet that one there has herpes all over it. Don't want to need Herpexia, do you?" Sam grit his teeth and took the nearest cart. He walked through Lucifer who harrumphed in disapproval.

"Welcome to Safeway!" the greeter said cheerily. "Can I help you find anything? Death? Destruction? Misery?" Sam clamped his hands around the handle and walked determinedly into the produce section. He quickly set about collecting assorted veggies for himself, disregarding the shucked corn with human teeth for kernels, the raspberries with hundreds of little faceted eyes following his every move, or the creepy gnarled fruit that looked like tentacles reaching out to ensnare its prey—oh wait, that was just a Buddha's hand citron. It was _supposed_ to look like that. He struggled to maintain his composure when everything he touched started to mold and putrefy. The air stank of rotting flesh and rancid organic matter. He discretely pressed his fingernails into his palm and was relieved when the little crescents freed him from his tormentor.

He proceeded to the bakery and got an apple and cherry pie for Dean. _That should suffice,_ he thought, and rolled his cart through the meat section. He looked at all the fresh fish delicately nestled into the ice. He tried to remember the last time he had gone fishing. It may have been with their dad, now that he thought about it. Snippets of conversation floated back to him.

"… _All I'm saying, John, is that it would be nice to spend some time with your boys. Dean knows what he's doing, but Sam… well, Sam could really use some direction. He needs his dad. I can only do so much."_

" _Bobby, I appreciate your concern, but I think I'd be a better father if I destroyed the thing that killed their mom. They deserve vengeance."_

 _Bobby sighed heavily. "C'mon, they're twelve and eight. They don't need vengeance. They need some quality time with their dad. A few hours ain't gonna hurt."_

 _Emitting a sigh of his own, the eldest Winchester dropped his bags back on the table, his way of admitting defeat._

" _Sammy? Dean?" he called. "We're going fishing! And I expect you both to catch your dinner!" he said with a smile as Sam rounded the corner._

All the Winchesters had succeeded in catching their dinner that night, though Dean whined about Sam snagging the bigger fish. Sam remembered the evening fondly, one of the few times his dad was truly a dad. No arguing, no anxiety, just fun. The smile on his face was rudely interrupted by the sight of Dean's severed head settled in the ice, eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out. "Want a taste, sir?" an apron-clad Lucifer called out from behind the counter, blood dripping from his gloves as he pointed a knife towards Dean's head. Sam closed his eyes, dug deep within himself, and willed Lucifer to be gone when he reopened them.

To his surprise, his surroundings were Satan-free. He hurriedly finished the rest of the shopping before Lucifer could manifest himself once again. Last thing he needed was Lucifer jump-scaring him and making him drop a carton of eggs or something.

Returning to the car, Sam noticed Dean was asleep in the backseat. Knowing the pain meds made him tired, Sam quietly loaded up the groceries and started the engine, hoping to let Dean rest. He turned on the radio and happily hummed along as he pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

Dean's drug-induced sleep was interrupted as the car screeched to a break-neck halt and he snapped painfully against his seatbelt. Instantly alert, he peered through the seats to see what had caused the sudden stop. His little brother was frozen, staring at the radio as if it were alive. Dean concentrated on what was playing. A driving rhythm greeted him before a rich gravelly voice broke the melody.

" _Did your siblings tell you / I was wasting up your time / Now you're wasting mine / You brought me back in line / And I'm counting every link / And I guess you think that's fine."_ Dean didn't understand what was happening. It was just some random song. He didn't even recognize it.

" _Did you hear the rain? / Oh, the rain? / You can try and run and hide / Tearing at the chain / Oh, Lucifer's inside."_

Crippling understanding washed over him and he looked at Sam. He was trembling despite his white knuckles clamped around the steering wheel. He was transfixed, seemingly unable to move.

" _Did I send a shiver down your spine? / Well, I do it all the time / It's a little trick of mine."_

Sam grabbed his scar and squeezed harder than Dean had ever seen him do before. Dean slid over to his brother and pulled his hand away, but couldn't find the words to explain to him why.

" _Did I make you shake your knees?"_

Dean reached to turn the radio off but Sam fought against his movement, clutching his shirt.

" _Did I make him spill his wine?"_

The terror in his eyes told Dean he couldn't let go. He would rather suffer through the rest of the song than have Dean leave him, even for a second.

" _Lord, I'm spreading like disease / No, I'm all up in your mind."_

Whatever remaining color Sam had drained from his face.

" _Oh, Lucifer's inside / Oh, Lucifer's inside / Did you hear the rain / Oh, the rain? / You can try and run and hide / Tearing at the chain / Means I'm coming home again / Means I'm coming home, my friend / Oh, Lucifer's inside / Oh, Lucifer's inside / Lucifer's inside."_

Dean punched the radio off as soon as the song finished and brought his hand back to Sam, who was swallowing compulsively, his Adam's apple practically dancing. "Did-did you hear that, too?" he whispered. Dean nodded slowly. Sam ripped away from him and opened the door. He threw himself out of the car and retched violently. Dean pulled himself across the backseat, opened the door, and tumbled out after Sam. He put a hand on his arching back, hoping to soothe him. After a few more heaves, Sam turned and sat down, absentmindedly brushing away the small stones embedded in his hands. "If... if you heard it…" he panted, looking up at Dean, "I'm... I'm in a dream. Need to wake up. Need to wake up." He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

"No, you're not asleep. You're here, awake. I heard it, too."

Sam's eyes snapped open, even more fear seizing him. "Then…" he gulped. "He found a way to... infect you. _'I'm spreading like disease'_ ," Sam gasped, barely audible.

"No, Sam!" Dean said forcefully. "No, he's not inside me." He took out his phone and searched "did you hear the rain lucifer's inside." A video link popped up in addition to lyric pages. He clicked the first lyric suggestion. His eyes skimmed over the first verse. _"Why do you treat me so? / Why do you treat me so? / Well you cause me to weep / And you cause me to moan / You cause me to pack up my bags and leave home / Why do you treat me so? / Did you hear the thunder? / Or the rain? / Means I'm coming home again / Means I'm coming home, my friend / Did you steal my name? / You jack of all trades / You're the master of none / The race has begun / I was born a champion / I was born to jump and run / Did you hear the rain? / Oh, the rain? / You can try and run and hide / Tearing at the chain / Lucifer's inside."_ The rest of the lyrics matched what he had heard. He was simultaneously glad it was a real song and angry that such a thing existed to antagonize his brother. "It's a real song, Sam. By George Ezra. It's not Lucifer. He's not in my head, too. It's okay."

Sam looked up at Dean, a tiny flicker of hope on his face. "How... how can that even exist?" His eyes were wet. Dean had the irrational urge to find this George Ezra and give him a good thrashing. "That song... it's about me." Sam's face abruptly hardened. "Even if he tries to come home, I'm never letting him in again." _Home?_ Dean thought. _You're Lucifer's home? Dammit, Sam._ Sam's face contorted in anger as he stood. "No, he's been evicted permanently." His expression softened as he gazed down at Dean. "Never again," he said quietly.

Sam helped Dean back into the car then took his spot in the driver's seat. It took him a few tries to get the key in the ignition. Dean pretended not to notice. Starting the car, Sam turned down the volume even though the radio was off. _God, nothing is sacred anymore. Can't even listen to music,_ Dean thought. The silence was suffocating but words nor melody dared interfere. Far off on the horizon, a storm was brewing. The low thrum of distant thunder penetrated the sound of the engine. Dean's breath faltered as Sam flinched and put his foot down on the gas. Dean felt his resolve wither. This was impossible.

* * *

Dean watched as Sam trudged out to the car to get the groceries and began rooting through the trunk. Sam's movements were slow and uncoordinated. Dean frowned. Sam had to sleep. It just wasn't an option to not sleep. How long could he keep this up? He let out a long sigh. He was too tired to think about this shit. A few minutes went by before Sam returned. "What, you get lost from the car to the cabin?"

Sam smiled awkwardly. "No, I, uh, was looking for something," he said cryptically. "Dibs on the shower?" he followed quickly, changing the subject.

"Sure, go ahead." _What were you looking for?_ Dean wondered, watching Sam arrange the bags from the trunk on the table. Once he heard the water running, he searched Sam's bag. A vaguely familiar jar filled with what looked like a plant root was nestled in between two neatly folded plaid shirts. _Is this…_ He opened the jar and took a sniff. His face wrinkled in disgust. _Oh yeah, that's African dream root._ He looked at the closed bathroom door. _What are you doing, Sam?_ He poked around the rest of the bag, searching for any hints. The shower turned off and Dean scrambled to replace Sam's things. He flopped back on the couch just in time. "My turn?" he said cheerily, hoping like hell he didn't look or sound suspicious. He never had been very good at lying to Sam. His brother nodded and walked to his bed, appearing to be deep in thought. _Whatever, Einstein,_ Dean thought and started the shower.

The dream root had surprised him. What was Sam going to use it for? Is that what he planned to use to avoid his endless dreams of the cage and Lucifer? No, that's not how dream root worked. And the jar wasn't that full, so it couldn't be a long-term solution. So then what did he need the dream root for? He resolved to ask Sam once he finished cleaning up.

* * *

Dean eyed his brother from the door frame, brushing his teeth. Sam was laying on the bed, intently reading something on his laptop. "Dean," he started, hesitant. Dean held up a finger, spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. He knew this wasn't going to be brief. Dean shut off the light and shuffled over to sit across from Sam on the cot. Sam glanced up at him warily then away. He inhaled deeply. "You asked what you could do… and you know, about how I can't sleep… I thought, maybe," he paused, his eyes going to his bag then back to Dean. "Maybe it would help if you could _see it._ "

"What do you mean?" Dean queried, though he had an inkling.

"If you could see what he did to me, does to me…" Sam shook his head, "then perhaps you'd understand why I don't want to sleep." He brought his eyes up to meet Dean's. They were more vulnerable than Dean had remembered seeing in a long time.

Dean bit his lip. Hadn't he always wanted Sam to open up to him about Hell? Now the opportunity was here and he wasn't sure he wanted it. "What did you have in mind?" he asked unsteadily.

Sam shifted and grabbed his bag. He pulled out the jar. "I thought the dream root might be a good way. Put you inside my head, you could see it first hand," his voice was shy, almost ashamed. Dean was silent, thinking. "You don't have to though. It was just a suggestion, to help you understand," Sam added quickly. His shadowed eyes ducked Dean's intent stare.

"I've been to Hell, too, remember?" Dean replied.

"Not this Hell though, not _my Hell._ " The emphasis struck Dean and he knew that his Hell was a spa day compared to Sam's. And seeing as he was made to break the first seal, that was really saying something.

"Sam," Dean whispered, his brain struggling for the right words. He was afraid, fearful of the unimaginable sufferings dealt to his baby brother. But if Sam thought this could help, Dean would do it. Anything to help Sam.

* * *

After a fairly quiet afternoon and evening of reading, TV, and dinner, Sam plucked a hair from his head and handed it to Dean. The older Winchester looked at it with repulsion. "Dude, I am not drinking your whole hair. I'll probably choke on the damn thing!" Taking out his pocket knife, he cut a small piece and dropped it in the fetid yellow liquid. As the unappealing aroma reached his senses, Dean had the distinct sensation that he would regret this on multiple levels. He paused. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"If it gets bad, how do I get you out of it?"

Sam shrugged. "That's another reason why I'm doing this. I was hoping you could come up with something. Nothing I do works."

Dean resisted the urge to throw the mug across the room. No, this was the point: figure out some way to escape the nightmares. This is how he could help Sam. He inhaled and exhaled carefully. "Okay, I'll see what I can do." He gulped down the tea before he could change his mind. "'Night, Sammy," he murmured as he dropped into the pillow.

"Goodnight, Dean. And thanks."

"Don't mention it…" Dean closed his eyes and tried to mentally prepare himself for a rough night. The sound of turning pages was the last thing Dean remembered before slipping into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dean woke to absolute darkness. He felt weightless, as though suspended in a void. "Sam?" he called out, his voice echoing back to him. Suddenly it occurred to him that Sam was probably still awake. Could you dream walk someone without being in a dream? As Dean pondered this, he slowly became aware of faint edges of light filling in the emptiness around him. Most were unrecognizable, but a door was materializing not far from Dean. He willed himself to be in front of it, to be opening it, and was instantly through the door. A frigid wind whipped at his face and he pulled his shirt collar up around his neck. A huge structure loomed above him. To Dean, it looked like a pompous university building. _Stanford?_ Dean wondered, but realized it was too old to be Stanford. The obviously once-lush vegetation was withered and decaying. Unkempt vines grew over any available surface. Half the windows were broken and eerie Aeolian tunes were rampant through all the crevices. Dean felt pressure on his legs and looked down. Several vines had started to wrap around his ankles and he shook them away. A flower bud unfurled and revealed angry, fang-filled mouths encircled by clawed fingers in place of petals. Taking that as his cue to keep moving, Dean hurriedly climbed the granite stairs, avoiding the now-hissing plants. He slipped in one of the less-grand doors and closed it tightly behind him. He tried to ignore the thunks of the aggressive vine mouths against the door.

He turned and almost staggered back outside. Hundreds of staircases were moving, forming a truly Escher-esque maze before him. Some hung from the ceiling, others projected out from the walls. Stairs passed through each other, merged, separated, vanished, and appeared seemingly at random. Each staircase was unique. That one was from their house in Lawrence. That one was Bobby's basement. A disturbing proportion appeared to be rickety motel staircases.

 _So this is your brain, Sam,_ Dean thought, appreciating the almost elegant dance of the stairways. After watching the mesmerizing motion for a few minutes, Dean noticed some moved only rarely, if at all. He slid along the wall to reach the closest one. It was a sturdy fire escape. Dean scaled it easily but much to his surprise when he thought he had reached the top, more metal stretched above him. Panting, he arrived at the landing and glanced down. He appeared to be hundreds of feet above the rest of the commotion but Dean knew he hadn't climbed that long. Looking back to his level, he saw a large, solid wooden door. Dean turned the gleaming silver handle and thrust the door forward. Bright light flooded his vision and he was forced to close his eyes. An overwhelming sense of himself, of Dean, permeated his mind. The smell of leather and gunpowder, the taste of pie and whiskey, the feel of a tight embrace, the sound of Baby's engine, and an incredible tender affection washed over him, dominating his being. Struggling, he pulled the door shut. He opened his eyes and found himself at the entrance of the great hall of staircases. The one he had just climbed remained in place. Dean smiled to himself. He had always hoped to be the immovable, constant thing in Sammy's life.

The pace of the movement began to slow and Dean understood this to mean Sam was starting to fall asleep. Taking advantage of the change, Dean jumped on a staircase that had previously been moving too fast. It turned abruptly like a tilt-a-whirl and Dean had to grip the railing with all his might. He pulled himself in tight against the centrifugal force, dragging his weight up the wooden stairs. Dean didn't recognize the stairs, but continued climbing. A fierce gust of wind pushed him back but he fought it, hunkering down and crawling. Reaching the landing, he sprawled out and breathed deeply to replenish his tired body. A hint of sulfur filled his nostrils and he was immediately alert. He gathered himself up and lunged towards the door. Throwing it open, he was greeted by the sight of Azazel conducting an orchestra in a massive concert hall. The melodramatic tune was drowned out in a rush of fear as those burning yellow eyes turned to behold him. Black shadows on the floor started to move towards him. Dean slammed the door shut and dashed down the steps, the wind pushing urgently at his back, though it died down as he fled. He ran towards the safety of the entrance. He gathered himself before swiveling to face the whirling menagerie once again.

To his surprise, a lone, grand staircase presented itself. The sweeping marble structure held an air of challenge, daring Dean to scale it. He approached and was almost revolted by its decadence. Gold leaf gilded the intricate designs coiling up the railing. Precious stones gleamed in the oddly bright ambient light. Glancing behind him, the room had taken on a brooding baroque style, impressive and looming. He sighed and reached for the banister. It gleamed radiantly in the light, appearing to be made of liquid opal. It thrummed with faint electricity, energizing Dean as he bounded up. As he neared the top, he could see a figure standing with his back to him, looking at a huge, brilliantly lit, elegant stained glass window. "Hey! Sam!" Dean called out, excited his brother was finally asleep. He reached the top of the flight as Sam turned around. Except it wasn't Sam. Lucifer's lascivious smile stopped him dead in his tracks. The devil's grin blossomed as he snapped his fingers, the floor opening up below Dean and swallowing him whole.

Dean plummeted into darkness, sensation leaving him as he fell. Intense cold flooded his awareness as his sense of time ebbed away from him. All he could think about was Lucifer's smug grin. Finally he hit the bottom and crumpled into an aching heap. _Sam, I have to find Sam,_ Dean thought pressingly. "Dean!" an enthusiastic voice chirped behind him. "So nice of you to _drop in_! We started without you." He had forgotten the smooth timbre of the vessel's voice and it made him shudder. He stood to face Lucifer. The archangel was obviously pleased with himself, though if it was with his joke, the fact that he had trapped Dean, or just in general Dean couldn't tell.

Lucifer laughed and huge golden wings burst from his back, illuminating the space. Dean was almost dumbfounded with awe. He had the urge to bow before the angel until he spotted a figure behind Lucifer at the same time the tang of burning flesh hit his nostrils. A limp, naked body hung from its wrists in red-hot chains, blood slicking down the wasted musculature. It was unrecognizable but Dean knew it was his brother. Lucifer arched an eyebrow, looking from the body to Dean. "Brings back some memories, huh Dean? What do you say you pick up your old hobby? I hear you were the best of the best." A serrated blade appeared in Dean's hand and he could feel the bloodlust seeping into him.

He dropped the knife and stared defiantly at Lucifer. "I will never do that again, not to anyone."

"Not even if I said, say, you carved up Sammy a little bit and I'd let you both go?" Lucifer stepped aside and tilted his head towards his captive. "What do you think, Sam? That seem fair to you?" Sam dragged his head up and Dean was horrified to see his eyes gone, ripped from their sockets. Blood flowed down his face in tiny rivulets. Sam opened his mouth and Dean could see his tongue was also missing. Sam tried to inhale but just choked on the blood.

Hatred filled Dean and pushed away the bloodlust. He took a step toward Sam but Lucifer locked his knees. "Stop it," Dean commanded, his voice vicious.

"Stop what?" Lucifer questioned innocently, glancing back at Sam, who was instantly restored.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, pulling against his restraints. Dean reached for him but could not move his feet.

Lucifer let out a predatory giggle. He smiled at Dean then moved towards Sam. "Don't you fucking touch him!" Dean snarled.

Lucifer held his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I won't touch him." He paused, smirking. "Because I don't need to." He snapped his fingers and thin needles started protruding from under Sam's skin over his entire body. The tissue stretched until it snapped, thousands of tiny silver barbs glinting in the bright light still emanating from Lucifer. Sam cried out but bit his tongue, trying to be strong for Dean. Lucifer let out an "awwww" as he looked between the two Winchesters. "C'mon, Sam, wasn't the whole point of this for Dean to see how pitiful and broken you are? Let it out. You know how much I love to hear you scream."

"No," Sam gasped, holding Dean's gaze. "No," he repeated more forcefully.

Amusement splashed Lucifer's features. He furled his wings and they disappeared. He shrugged. "On with the show, then," he drawled. "So, what next?" he wondered aloud. "Ooh, I know!" The restraints released and Sam collapsed to the floor. "Up, Sammy-boy." Instantly Sam was on his feet, his body in one piece again. "Attack," Lucifer commanded.

Sam fought his body. "No, no," he managed, struggling against an invisible force driving him towards Dean. Lucifer's face contorted in anger.

"You do as I say, bitch." Lucifer lifted his arm and pushed forward, flinging Sam onto Dean.

"Dean, no, Dean, I'm sorry," Sam breathed.

"For what? Sammy, I got you," Dean consoled.

"No, get away. Wake up. I can't fight it, Dean. It's too strong. He's too strong."

"Fight what?" he asked, but he quickly sensed what he was fighting. Sam's quivering lips and sweaty skin gave Dean all the clues he needed. He tried to hold Sam's arms, but Sam quickly overpowered him. Sam pinned him to the ground, unnatural strength surging through his body. "Sam, you can stop this. You don't want this."

"But I do, Dean," he growled. He wasn't Sam anymore, he was barely even human. "I've been waiting for this for a long time." He gripped Dean's face and turned it towards himself. His eyes were pitch black. Dean flinched slightly and Sam laughed. He thrust Dean's head down, exposing his neck. Sharp pain erupted as Sam sunk his teeth into his brother. Then the warm wetness of Sam's tongue against his skin, lapping up his blood. Dean wasn't sure if he was more disgusted or terrified. He felt something hit his skin. He looked closely at Sam and could see tears streaming out of his eyes, even as he greedily drank from his brother. Somewhere in there, the real Sam, his Sam, was fighting for control.

"S'okay. I f'give you, S'my," Dean whispered, his strength quickly draining as Sam sated his thirst.

"Ughhh," they heard Lucifer groan. He swished his fingers and Sam flew to the wall. "No fun in that," Lucifer chastised. He approached Dean, who tried to crawl away from him. He stepped on Dean's coat, halting his slow escape. "Dean," he said, bending down to look the hunter in the eye. "I'm not going to hurt you," he cooed. He reached towards Dean who recoiled, fear chilling his remaining blood. He touched the human's neck, healing the still dripping wound. Lucifer's touch was icy but left a soothing sensation spreading through his body. Dean sat up and pushed himself away, anything to put more distance between him and the devil.

"I want to talk, Dean. Explain to you the depth of the hold I have on your brother." He looked to his vessel, dangling off the floor. Sam was foaming at the mouth and thrashing. His desire for blood had consumed him entirely and he no longer resisted. Lucifer frowned, his expression oddly sincere. "Disgraceful to see him like that, hmm, Dean?" Dean refused to look. The sound of Sam's snarls was enough for him. "Just give me a chance. Hear me out. Then maybe you'll understand why ignoring me, trying to banish me, is pointless. Sam will listen to you," a hint of jealousy coloring his last statement.

"I don't need to hear your bullshit," Dean responded; he had zero interest in Lucifer's bluster. He'd had enough of that when Zachariah had zapped him into the future. "You better kill me now," he said, repeating his words from fake-2014.

"No need for that. Look, I'm trying to be reasonable—"

"I gave up on reasonable when you started the damn Apocalypse," Dean interrupted.

"Old news," Lucifer returned nonchalantly. "But things are different now. Since Sam accepted me—"

"Accepted you? Is that what you're calling it these days? He was forced into a corner with the fate of the world hanging in the balance!"

"Still, he invited me in."

"Consider yourself uninvited."

"It doesn't work like that," he retorted, getting impatient. "Now, be silent and listen to me." He loomed over Dean, seeming larger than life.

Despite himself, fear started to rise in Dean's throat. "No," he spat, as much to Lucifer as to his own emotions. He unconsciously braced himself for the impending blows. None came.

Instead Lucifer rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. "Humans. So stubborn," he muttered. "Let me know when you've changed your mind." With that, he disappeared.

Eerie howls burst from Sam as his prey was left alone before him but out of reach. Dean with a demonic Sam. He gazed at Sam, seemingly rabid in his bloodlust. His own blood stained Sam's mouth and Dean felt ill. To think Sam had been like this with Ruby... Dean shook his head and dispelled the thought. He approached Sam, hoping he could reach him beneath the blood rush. "Sam, c'mon man, you can fight this," he implored.

Sam's eyes tracked his movements like a predator. "Why would I fight it? This is what I've always been, what I was destined to become." His black eyes gleamed in the low light.

"No, you're better than this," Dean countered.

"Just like you were better in Hell? Like when you gave in after thirty pathetic years and dished out all the pain from your miserable little life? I can see it, how good you would be in your newfound position. All those years of rage, fantasizing about Azazel and every monster you ever killed. This is your fault, Dean. You made me. Allowed me to become this. And you're too weak to do anything about it. You always say I'm the sentimental one but we all know you could never live without me. I almost ended the world and yet you did nothing."

"I knew you were in there still, just like I do now. You fought Lucifer before and won, you can do it now."

Sam threw his head back and laughed throatily. "That was before Lucifer was in me, became me. He is etched in my soul now," a note of pride rang in his voice.

Dean shook his head. "No, Sam. No, this isn't you. Lucifer is not a part of you. We got you out."

The smile that grew on Sam's face was sickening. "He's always been a part of me. He's more my family than you ever were. You always thought I was a freak. Cursed baggage you were doomed to drag around for the rest of your life. C'mon, kill me, free yourself," he dared. He tilted his head back, offering his neck. "I'll thank you, Dean. Only good thing you'll have done for me."

"Be quiet," Dean ordered. "This isn't you."

A shiver quaked through Sam. "Oh, you sound like Lucifer when you talk like that. Touches me in all the wrong places."

"Shut up!" Dean shouted. The last thing he wanted to think about was Lucifer and his brother getting cozy.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? To think of Lucifer _inside me_ in so many ways? All those millennia alone have given him quite the appetite. Things you couldn't even imagine, Dean." Dean closed his eyes and tried to block him out. Think about anything but the images searing his mind. It wasn't working. "Angels know just so much about the human body," he was saying. "And after a while, you get to like it. Ask for it, even. You'll see, Dean." Dean's eyes opened and he looked around for Lucifer, preparing for a fight to the death. Sam's dark cackle refocused him. "Who said it would be him? I've learned _so much_!"

"Sam, stop it, this isn't you," Dean begged. His brother laughed and Dean covered his ears. Still he could hear his brother's raving voice spewing disgusting and vicious taunts. He sang to himself but still Sam continued. After several hours, Dean's voice got hoarse and he stopped. It was then he realized his brother's depraved ramblings had turned to cries for help. Dean recognized the urgency. Detox. He cringed. The two previous times had nearly broken Dean, despite being able to escape Sam's desperate sobs and screams. Now he was trapped with him. The restraint on Sam broke as he flailed and he collapsed to the floor. Dean scrambled over. He tried to gather his brother into his arms but Sam convulsed violently. "Sammy, it's okay. I got you, you're okay." Sam writhed on the floor. A fist connected with Dean's face and the terror in his brother's eyes was the last thing Dean saw as he fell towards him.

* * *

A gleaming black throne filled Dean's vision as he opened his eyes. He pushed himself up and felt razors digging into his hands. He glanced around him, flakes of obsidian showering the floor. Lucifer stared down at him, smiling. "Feel like story time yet?"

"Suck it, you dick," Dean retorted.

Lucifer shrugged and relaxed back into his seat. "Hm, I need something else…" he murmured. Snapping his fingers, an exhausted Sam appeared at his feet on all fours. Lucifer sighed with contentment as he put his legs on Sam's shoulder blades. The added weight forced the volcanic rock into Sam's hands and knees and he whimpered with pain. Looking evenly at Dean, Lucifer pressed his legs down and drove the obsidian further into Sam. Dean tried to move but found he was powerless. Picking up a shard, Lucifer looked tenderly at Sam. He cut the shirt off to reveal Sam's pristine back. His lips twisted with delight as he started carving words into Sam. Sam shook violently and Lucifer put a hand on the back of his neck, stilling him. "Stop moving, you'll ruin my pretty picture!" Dean could do nothing but watch helplessly as stroke after stroke brought his little brother's blood out of his body. "Too bad we don't need a blood bank down in Hell. Sam would be a top contributor." He smiled affably. He flung the obsidian away and lazily wiped at the pooled blood. "Get up, Sammy, I want to show Dean my handiwork."

Sam was shaking. "I can't," he whispered hoarsely.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Lucifer wheedled.

"I can't. My knees…" Both archangel and human looked to his legs. The stone was embedded so deeply that the joint could no longer flex enough to allow Sam to stand. Lucifer shrugged and brought his foot down on each knee. Sam yelled and the devil grinned, one step closer to satisfaction. Everything in Dean cringed. Lucifer grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up.

He twisted Sam's body and presented his back to Dean like a proud child expecting praise from an adoring parent. 'Sam + Luci 4ever' surrounded by a deeply gouged heart. Above it was a crude depiction of the vessel and his angel, wings spread across Sam's shoulders. 'Sam' was before him, his body bent— _Oh God,_ Dean recoiled against the image of Lucifer violating his brother as it materialized in his mind. A sinister chuckle reached Dean's ears and he felt vomit surge up his throat. For a second, Lucifer sealed his mouth, allowing the acid to scratch at his cheeks, before allowing Dean to empty his stomach contents. "I told Sam he was my little bitch, in _every sense of the word_ ," he purred. "Just restaking my claim."


	10. Day 9: Part II

**Day 9: Part II**

A/N: **WARNINGS: Very, very graphic torture, rape, and sexual violence in Day 9: Part II.**

Day 9: Part II is written such that it can be skipped and you won't miss any plot if you don't want to read it. Turned out more graphic than I had anticipated, but I kept it because I think it's true to what Sam went through. The show heavily hints that Sam was raped, and I think it is the most personal bodily violation Sam could experience after possession.

* * *

Lucifer ran his forked tongue up Sam's shaking body, standing to reach his head. He sucked on Sam's earlobe and winked at Dean. Sam's face held no expression; clearly he was used to this. Dean's stomach heaved but had nothing left to offer. Lucifer twisted his fingers into Sam's hair, smiling as Sam jolted when he jerked his head around. He danced his hand across Sam's chest, gently tracing out the contours of Sam's anatomy. He then dragged his nails down Sam's stomach, drawing blood as he slipped his hand under Sam's jeans. Lucifer pressed himself into Sam's body, moaning lightly as he nuzzled Sam's shoulder.

A silent tear escaped Sam's eye and his captor caught it with his tongue, following the trail up his face. Forcing Sam's eyes open, he dragged his tongue against them, flicking his tongue under the eyelids. Sam's body had long since stopped shaking; it was petrified, but the terror in his eyes tore into Dean. What was worse, the resignation on his face told Dean this had happened so many times before. Sam didn't even try to resist. Dean wished he were back in Hell under Alastair's knife. It would be a sweet mercy compared to watching his baby brother being molested by Satan. Suddenly, Lucifer stepped away from Sam, letting him fall. He returned to his chair and leered at Sam, smiling. "Sam's clearly not in the reciprocating mood, so looks like I'll have to provide some encouragement." He rubbed at Sam unceremoniously with his foot. Dean's entire being ached to rip the lewd expression off the devil's smarmy face.

A quiet voice broke him from his violent fantasy. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll do better." It boggled Dean's mind that such a tiny sound could come from his brother's gigantor body. "I'll do whatever you want."

Lucifer smirked and lifted his gaze from Sam. "I know you will, you disgusting slut, but what about Deano?" He rose and stalked towards Dean, who became paralyzed with absolute horror. "I mean, if one Winchester is that delicious, what about the other one?"

"Don't. Touch. Me." Dean gasped, his throat closing up.

"Not even if I look like this?" A busty blonde sashayed towards him, her perfect features filled with lust. Her blouse left little to the imagination and a hot pink thong peeked over her jean shorts.

Dean forced himself to laugh. "God what is this, a Hooters?"

The girl—wait, no, Lucifer—frowned. "That's very hurtful, Dean," she—he—chided. "Fine, what about this?" The girl's image blurred momentarily and before him was a familiar face with dark hair and expressive eyes.

"—Lisa?" Dean whispered. Then she was on him, hugging him, and his awareness of the situation drained away. Her hands clasped around his neck and he was immersed in her gentle scent. Before he could react, her soft hands worked their way under his collar and began caressing him. Her lips brushed against his teasingly and desire flowed into him. She slid one hand up his face and the other down his side, exciting him like only she knew how. She drew his bottom lip into her mouth as her hand went to the front of his pants, inhaling sharply as she felt him. Dean instinctively pulled her into him, anticipation warming his body. Her lips pushed eagerly at his and he greedily accepted.

The freezing caress of a forked tongue was not what he expected and he couldn't move as he remembered what was actually happening. He tried to withdraw but Lucifer held him tight, his tongue aggressive in Dean's mouth. Lucifer returned to his previous visage. The vessel's stubble chaffed painfully against Dean's skin as the devil pressed their faces together, unrelenting. Dean's blood drained to his feet, fear and disgust taking its place. Lucifer pulled back and laughed, pleased with Dean's reaction. Lucifer deftly unzipped Dean's jeans and reached inside, drawing a howl from Dean. But the cold touch was gone as soon as it had begun; something had distracted the devil.

Sam was tugging at Lucifer's legs. "Please, Lucifer, I'll do whatever you want, please just don't hurt Dean." The desperation made his voice ragged. "I'll be quiet, I won't make a sound, I'll be good. I'll behave this time. I'll be your whore," he begged. Lucifer pondered the scene playing out before him.

"You'll be my little three-hole slut?" Glancing at Dean, he relished the horrified recoil this drew from Mr. Protective Big Brother. _How could Sam be a_ — and suddenly Dean decided he didn't want to give that any more thought. As Sam forced out an affirmative, Lucifer decided the intimate degradation of his brother would be far more profound than Dean's personal humiliation. He smiled. "What do you say?" Lucifer chided.

"I'll do it."

Annoyance crept into his voice. "You know the word I want to hear, Sammy."

"Y-yes," Sam stammered, looking down at the ground.

Lucifer beamed triumphantly.

"Okay, Sammy," he agreed. He pushed Dean away and forced him into his obsidian throne. He grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and pulled him up. Lucifer puckered his lips and looked at Dean while Sam latched onto his lips. Sam's hands were shaking slightly at his side. Lucifer withdrew and slapped him hard across the cheek. "I expect a little more inspiration than that, bitch," Lucifer growled. Sam mumbled an apology before lifting his arms and drawing him into a passionate kiss. His hands pawed at Lucifer's head, fluffing the blonde spikes delicately. The movement did not seem mechanical, but rather filled with tenderness and affection. Dean tried to look away but Lucifer glared at him, and Dean found he could no longer blink, speak, or move. Sam brought his tongue down the devil's neck, moaning lightly. It occurred to Dean that he couldn't tell if the sound was for Lucifer's benefit or for Sam's. His stomach churned. "I'm getting impatient, Sammy," Lucifer said bluntly. Frantically, Sam's hands dropped and began loosening Lucifer's pants. Lucifer looked to Dean and smiled. "He knows better than to keep me waiting. He's a quick learner. Only took him a year to stop fighting," Lucifer drawled, then returned his attention to Sam.

"On your knees," he ordered, forcing Sam's head down. Sam obeyed and fell to the ground, pulling down the vessel's boxers as he went. Lucifer pushed his hips forward and Sam accepted him. Sam choked as he took him in and Dean burned with rage. Lucifer threw his head back and laughed, controlling Sam's head with his hands. He pulled Sam's hair with such vigor Dean could see hundreds of loose strands intertwined in his fingers. Sam brought up his hands to caress Lucifer, clearly following a well-established routine. The devil whispered sweet nothings to Sam, alternately praising him and berating him for his performance. Sam did things Dean had only seen in the freakier pornos. He shuddered to think about how Sam had learned those moves. Lucifer suddenly grabbed Sam's hair and yanked him up, eliciting a surprised cry of pain from Sam. Lucifer leaned in and whispered in Sam's ear. His shoulders sagged but he nodded obediently.

Sam slowly walked over to Dean and held out his hands. Dean tried to speak but found he still could not make a sound. "Spit," Sam half-ordered, half-begged. Sam carefully avoided his brother's eyes, despite Dean's desperate attempt to console Sam in any way he could. "Spit, Dean," he repeated a little more forcefully. Dean shook his head, unwilling to be a participant in any way. "Please, just do it. The faster we get it over with, the better." Dean caught Sam's eyes and felt his soul wither. He recognized so little of his brother in this man's face. He obliged and collected as much saliva as possible to give to Sam, who quickly returned to Lucifer.

Lucifer watched the exchange with unhidden satisfaction. "Why Dean, I would almost say you enjoy this based on your contribution. How generous…" He took Dean's offering into his hands and smiled as he coated himself in Dean's spit, wiping the remainder on Sam's face and in his hair. Lucifer crossed his arms and bit his lip, waiting.

His head bowed, Sam dutifully began to undo his belt. "You didn't say Luci may I!" Lucifer snapped. He backhanded Sam with immense force, twisting his body around and sending him flying to the ground. Blood poured from his nose, the fragile tissue smashed. Sam quickly moved to all fours and tried to stand, but Lucifer held him in place with an outstretched hand. Lucifer slowly approached, enjoying the dread filling both Winchesters. He knelt down behind Sam and ran his hands down Sam's sides, eliciting a violent chill that wracked Sam's spine. He placed his hand on the small of Sam's back and fire erupted from his fingertips. The young man could not hold back the whimpers of pain as flames engulfed his body and his clothing burned away. His hair caught fire and Lucifer allowed some it to char, just enough so that the lurid smell of burning hair permeated the air. He grabbed the smoldering locks and pulled Sam's head back as he thrusted forward into his victim with no preparation, and Sam could take the torture no more.

Bound by Lucifer and physically unable to look away, Dean was sure he would never forget the sight before him and the accompanying scream that would haunt his every living moment. _Sammy! As if having his soul violated by the devil hadn't been enough…_ Sheer anguish slashed through him and he felt his spirit spilling out the wounds. _Dying is preferable to this._ He was powerless and Sam… _God, Sam! How could Sam ever be okay again?_ Searing pain encircled Dean's chest.

"Remember to breathe, boys," Lucifer cooed. Sam choked on the air, and Dean was too gripped with misery to perform the basic function necessary for life. He struggled to inhale, and instantly regretted it, the acrid scent of burnt hair and skin testing his gag reflex. Lucifer laughed as he bore into Sam, the desperate cries for mercy music to his ears. He sunk his nails into Sam's shoulders and dragged down, bright red streaks swelling up immediately. "It's funny, they call these angel wings…" He tilted his head, an oddly curious expression on his face. Then he sighed. "You know mine look so much better on you, Sammy. Don't understand why you gave them up…" He shook his head sadly then brought his hands up and repeated the action, adding more 'feathers', before placing his hands firmly on Sam's hips. "And now, you'll pay dearly!" Anger billowed within the archangel and he slammed Sam's body against his own, ripping into Sam's abused entrance with unbridled ferocity. Lucifer sensed the unparalleled torment radiating off his wayward vessel and he relished it.

Red began to flow from Sam and Lucifer frowned. After a few more savage strokes, he pulled out and let Sam's shaking body collapse to the ground. "The blood makes for too much lubrication. Guess I rode ya a little too hard, too fast this time, Sammy. Maybe I was showing off for Deano." Lucifer winked at the older Winchester. Detaching from reality, a part of Dean wondered how many times Sam had been through this, but a much larger part didn't want to know. This was absolutely unbearable. Lucifer pulled up his jeans and a small glimmer of relief ignited in Dean. He needed it to be over. He prayed it was over. But Lucifer had other plans.

He squeezed Sam's ass then started drawing circles on his back with the blood dripping down his thighs. "What do you say Sam, got one more round for your master?" Sam made no reply over his muffled sobs. "Sammy, dear? I need an answer, I want to hear that little word…" Ragged breaths filled the space. Impatient, Lucifer rolled Sam over with one hand, the other outstretched to receive the blade currently whizzing across the room. It landed in his palm with a soft thud. His fingers closed slowly around the hilt, almost dancing with anticipation.

He laid down on Sam and brought the blade to his face. He traced the tip over his eyelid and began applying pressure as he moved down Sam's cheek, a faint red line by his eye growing to a deep gash that revealed the human's jawbone. Sam's sobs once again became cries of pain. The devil brought the blade up the other side, this time starting lightly under his chin and scraping the bone of Sam's eye socket. He put a hand over Sam's mouth to silence the screaming. "This will stop if you say 'yes', Sammy," Lucifer offered, his tone patronizing. "Or I could see if Dean wants a taste." Sam froze then shook his head frantically, ignoring the blade grazing his eye with every movement. "Good little bitch," Lucifer praised and removed his hand. "Now say it."

"Yes," Sam squeaked, his throat on the verge of collapse.

Lucifer smiled. "I never tire of hearing that word…" he murmured lazily. "But you make me work _so hard_ for it. And I really resent that!" he ended angrily, gouging the knife into Sam's eye socket. He flicked the blade and freed the bloodshot eye from its tether. The hazel orb rolled down and Lucifer caught it between his thumb and forefinger, ignoring the primitive wails coming from Sam. He pressed his fingers together and the eyeball exploded, dripping chunks of vitreous fluid falling into Sam's mouth. Sam gurgled in disgust but Lucifer firmly clamped his hand over the agitated lips. Sam swallowed compulsively, anything to get the revolting taste out of his mouth.

The younger Winchester was soon distracted as Lucifer carved a deep ravine from Sam's eye down his body, blood erupting from his cheek, chest, and gut. The blade reemerged and lingered over Sam's navel, the sharp edge gently liberating blood from Sam's skin. Lucifer hummed with indecision, biting his lip as he rubbed at the hardness swelling once again beneath his jeans. Lucifer let out a frustrated groan. "You're just… so delicious, Sammy." He placed the knife to the side and crawled over the shaking body. He pinned Sam's wrists by his head, smiling as the battered creature tried to struggle out of his grasp. He stared at Sam, their faces inches apart. "I just can't get enough of you…" he moaned. "And the fact that we have an audience?" He whooped with delight. "I can't believe you were foolish enough to allow this to happen, Sam. What must strong, resilient Dean Winchester think of you now? What will he think of you when I'm done? You're pathetic; we all know that. You can't hide it from your brother anymore! He's put up with all your failures and your mistakes for so, so long, and my, they are legion! But now he knows the truth of the matter. It's not that you have failed time and time again, it's more than that. _You are failure_ , Sam. You're weak, disgusting. You're trash. Good for nothing but my entertainment. Go on and ask your brother. He knows it too: you'll always be my bitch."

"D-dean?" Sam gasped. He couldn't see Dean, but the silence that answered the devil's proclamation was all the evidence he needed. His resolve withered and his body relaxed as he stopped fighting.

Dean watched as Sam went limp and he wished more than anything he could scream his support for his brother and pound it into his brain. Dean had loved and would love Sam no matter what. He still loved him when he left for Stanford, when he drank the demon blood, even when he released Lucifer. Dean would always forgive Sam his trespasses, even if Dean wasn't as upfront about it as Sam. The fact that Sam didn't know that in his heart of hearts made Dean want to die. He would remedy that first chance he got. If he got that chance… Dean couldn't fathom what Sam was going through despite his front row seat. This was far worse than he could have imagined.

Lucifer picked up the knife, running the blade through his fingertips absentmindedly as he eyed Sam's prone shape. A smile spread slowly on his lips and Dean dreaded what that meant. Light emanated from his fingers and the metal became white hot. A predatory grin lit up Lucifer's face as he brought the weapon down to Sam's crotch. Sam whimpered as he felt the heat but didn't otherwise react. He knew better. He just wanted this to be over.

Grabbing Sam's cock, Lucifer lined up the edge of the knife with the slit and pressed steadily forward, slicing Sam's flaccid member in two. Shrieks of agony unlike anything Dean had heard, even in Hell, tore away at Dean's sanity. The blade kept moving up and the smell of cauterized tissue wafted towards Dean. Flashbacks of Hell mixed with his vision and his brain felt about ready to burst from the torment. Returning to Sam's bellybutton, Lucifer plunged the knife into Sam's gut and rotated the blade, opening up a perfectly sized hole for Lucifer's next attack.

He flung away the knife and shimmied out of his clothes, wasting no time in sinking himself into Sam's freshest wound. Sam gasped then howled with pain. Blood poured from his body with every stroke. The crimson liquid seeped out of his mouth between ragged breaths and rasping screams. Lucifer reached up and closed his hand around Sam's throat, silencing all but the sickening sound of the devil thrusting into Sam's guts. Lucifer opened his mouth to speak and Dean abruptly decided he preferred the near-silence. "See, Dean, Sam _knows_ he's my bitch, but every so often he forgets. Like any good owner, I dutifully retrain him and show him the error of his ways. He always falls into line quickly, good little obedient dog. Aren't you Sammy?" He brought his hand up to caress Sam's face but nothingness stared back at him. Sam was barely hanging on to consciousness. Shock paralyzed every nerve in the human's crumpled body. Lucifer had succeeded in breaking the youngest Winchester yet again and he cherished the win.

Finally, Lucifer cried out in pleasure, a blast of red flaring through his eyes before he closed them in satisfaction. Once opened, he grinned at Dean's crippled expression.

The hold on Dean's face released and he clamped his dry eyes shut, which were soon relieved by the tears flooding in. Everything in him wished for death. "Maybe you should have a turn next, Dean. He's been trained so fucking well." His voice hitched as he sighed happily. "Hope you don't mind sloppy seconds… well, fourths," he jeered. Satisfied, he stood and kicked Sam away like a piece of trash and smiled. "Gives a whole new meaning to vessel," he said, amusement dripping from his voice like the blood from so much of Sam's body. Dean looked at his brother's face against the dirty floor and saw a single cold, dead eye staring at nothing.


	11. Day 9: Part III

**Day 9: Part III**

A/N: **Warnings for torture, suicide, and mentions of rape.**

* * *

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* * *

"You're a monster," Dean gurgled, his voice failing him. The older Winchester looked broken and limp in the cold stone chair. Lucifer grinned victoriously, pleased that his actions had had the desired effect.

"Last I checked, you were pretty fond of calling your brother that, so perhaps this is what he deserves," Lucifer said calmly.

"I am going to tear every bone from your body, make you wish you never existed," Dean snarled, his voice so harsh it sounded alien to even his own ears.

"Ask Sammy for some pointers on that. He'll have _loads_ of suggestions," Lucifer replied helpfully. He stretched and rolled his shoulders. "I'll leave you two alone. I'd say give Sam a whirl, but, you're so good at fucking over your little brother, I doubt it's anything new." With that snide comment, he disappeared. Dean felt the restraint wither.

He tried to stand but his muscles wouldn't budge. Tears and words escaped him as he gazed at the shell of his baby brother sprawled on the floor. Dean almost questioned whether he was alive, but the slight rise and fall of his back negated the need. "Sammy?" Dean managed, gathering all his strength for the two syllables.

"'M s'r'y, D'n," Sam replied after a long pause, his voice hoarse and unrecognizable.

"Sam," Dean's heart broke and he couldn't continue. He didn't know what he would say even if he could. They remained in silence for what felt like a lifetime.

Sam stirred and locked his attention on something. Dean followed his gaze and saw the object of his desire. He eyed the knife Lucifer had given Dean earlier, the blade now coated in Sam's sticky blood, laying abandoned on the floor. They both scrambled to reach the blade first. The healthier Dean swiped it from Sam's long arm. Sam turned to him, begging. "Please, Dean, kill me. I want to die. I can't live like this. The things I've said, the things I've done, the things I've lived. Please. If you really cared about me, you'd put me out of my misery." Tears rolled silently down his filthy cheeks, cleaning tiny rivulets in the blood and dirt. Dean couldn't bear to watch Sam suffer in excruciating pain any longer.

"Okay, Sammy." Sam went limp, expectant as he welcomed death. His brother's entire existence plead with him but Dean turned away. _I can't kill you, Sammy. I'd rather die._ He stood. "Alright, you dick!" Dean shouted to the air. "You win! I'll listen to your crappy story!" Dean looked around the dark room but did not see their captor. "You hear me?" he yelled. "I'm ready! I'll listen!" Silence surrounded them, broken only by Sam's anguished sobs. Sam grasped at his ankles, reaching for the knife. Desperation started to edge into Dean. "Don't be a pouter! I'm saying 'yes'! Don't you love that word?!" Dean waited. He tried to shake Sam off. "Let go, Sam." Sam clawed at him, frantic in his desire for oblivion. Dean moved more vigorously but still Sam clung to him. "Let go, Sam!" He thrashed and Sam fought back, knocking Dean onto the ground. Sam lunged for the blade, gripping Dean's wrist firmly. Using his free arm, he swung at Sam and made contact with his temple. Sam's deadweight collapsed on him. Dean pushed him off and rolled away. He stared up into Lucifer's grin.

"Thanks for doing that for me. I knew you'd come around." He kicked Sam's unconscious body and smiled approvingly.

"You do that again and you'll regret showing your douchey face."

"Oh, like this?" He swung his leg back and struck Sam's head, liberating blood from his already broken nose. He laughed. "Stop bluffing, Dean. Gets rather tiresome."

Dean clenched his teeth and nodded slightly. "Okay, whatever. We're both here. Get on with it." Nothing could be worse than what he had already endured—what Sam had endured. He halted, hoping to get something out of the deal. "Fix him, and I'll listen to anything you say."

"It would be my pleasure," Lucifer said in such a manner that Dean shivered to think about what else pleases the devil. Lucifer snapped his fingers and Sam was restored, but still unconscious. Another chair appeared and Lucifer motioned for Dean to take it. Lucifer propped his legs up on Sam's chest. Dean held his tongue, determined not to give Lucifer the satisfaction. "Too late for that, Dean," he winked.

"Can—can you—" Dean sputtered.

Lucifer just smiled in response. "You're in _my_ vessel, so, yes, I can read your mind." Dean felt his hands twitch with anger as Lucifer used that possessive intonation about his brother. "You see, Sam was made for me. A custom-tailored suit, bespoke, if you would. When he said 'yes', we were joined together, two halves made whole. Every part of him is mine now, infused with my essence."

"What are you saying?" Dean asked coldly, already regretting agreeing to hear him out.

"In an angel's vessel, especially its true vessel," Lucifer looked down at Sam tenderly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "there's a hole, an ache, crying out to the angel, a beacon should the angel need to walk upon the Earth. When that union occurs, the angel gives of itself to satisfy the vessel, quelling the fear and the pain and filling that void."

Dean could see where this was going, "And if the angel leaves?"

"Or is ripped out?" Lucifer said accusingly. "Hm, how did they say it? A book appeared in his hands. He flipped through the glimmering pages. "Ah, here it is. 'And the departed shall remain and the remains shall be the departed.'"

"So Sam has a little bit of angel, of _you_ , in him?" Dean spit out the words like poison.

Lucifer struggled, and failed, to suppress a smirk. "Yes, some of my grace."

"You have grace?!" Dean exclaimed, suspicious.

"Of course, I'm an angel," Lucifer replied curtly, clearly insulted.

"But you fell."

"No, I was cast down. Grace and all. I am still an angel." Lucifer puffed out his chest proudly. Dean was silent, processing what he was hearing. "Don't you get it, Dean?" Lucifer's lush voice intruded. "Sam's not entirely insane. I'm not entirely in Hell."

"You're lying," Dean countered cautiously.

"No, Dean. I'm not lying. I don't need to." Lucifer was somber, all traces of pride and cruelty gone. "I never lied to Sam. He knew what he was agreeing to. The life of a vessel is sacrifice. Let me—"

Dean held up his hand and to his surprise Lucifer stopped talking. "Sam told me you said you felt sorry for him. I remember, in Carthage, you said you'd never hurt him, not really. These," and he swiveled his hand to include everything around them, "are hardly the actions of a sympathetic caretaker!"

"I once promised the world to him!" Lucifer was indignant and Dean scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. "The first time I revealed myself to Sam, I told him I wanted to give him a gift, give him everything. I told him he could have anything he desired. You know what his response was?" Dean bobbed his head, his eyes saying 'what?!' "He goes and calls you, asks you for help. I offer him the world and he goes running back to you!" This clearly irritated Lucifer and that made Dean smile. "You have nothing to smile about, Dean. In fact, I think you might be worse than me."

"Yeah, right. Your sweet talk might work on Sam, but good luck with me."

Lucifer smirked. "I don't have to say a word. You do a fine job all on your own." Lucifer held Dean's eyes then blinked. Suddenly Dean was in the passenger seat of a car speeding along an empty highway in the dark. Dean heard a heavy sigh come from the driver and knew instantly it was Sam. The car swerved slightly as Sam dialed a number with one hand, barely paying attention to the pavement flowing beneath him.

"Eyes on the road, Sam!" Dean chided, his protective instincts kicking in.

Lucifer stuck his head forward between the seats. "He can't hear you, moron. We're in his memory." He sat back. "Get comfy. This is a good one." He stretched out in the backseat and folded his arms behind his head.

The phone rang four times and Sam almost hung up before Dean heard his own gruff voice on the other end. "Dammit, Cas, I need to sleep!" _Oh no._ Dean remembered this. The night he told Sam they were better off apart. A small part of Dean had always wondered what Sam had done after this conversation. He had the feeling he was going to find out.

Sam frowned. "Dean, it's me."

"Sam? It's quarter past four."

"This is important." Sam was solemn.

"Okay, I'm listening." It was obvious he'd rather not.

"Well, uh," Sam hesitated. "I've been having these dreams about Jess—"

"That's not news, Sam."

"Let me talk. I've been having dreams of Jess, where she shows up and talks to me. At least I thought it was Jess. But, I, uh, it turns out it was Lucifer."

"Also not so weird. You did just let the bastard out. Probably gonna have some nightmares about it." Sam did not miss the accusatory sarcasm. He pressed on.

"No, Dean. It's actually Lucifer. I can tell. He can't find me because of the angel warding Cas gave us, but somehow he can get into my dreams. He told me—" Sam halted, unable to speak the words and make it real.

"What, what did he tell you?" The impatience in Dean's voice grated against his own ears.

Also noticing it, Sam hardened his face and continued. "He told me that I'm his vessel, his true vessel. He has a temporary one now, but it won't hold him for much longer. He's still an angel and he needs my consent. As long as he can't find me, he can't make me say 'yes'."

The clinking rattle of bottles was audible. "So, you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?" Sam's face wrinkled in disgust. He hated when Dean used that phrase, especially now applied to him. Current Dean felt guilty.

"That's what he said." Sam frowned as he heard the bottle cap flipping off the beer.

"Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?"

"So, that's it? That's your response?" Confusion was evident in his voice and on his face. Sam was clearly hurt by Dean's apathy.

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't know. A—a little panic, maybe?" Sam struggled to contain his own.

"I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point." _God, I'm a dick,_ Dean thought.

"What are we gonna do about it?"

"What do you want to do about it?"

"I want back in, for starters."

"Sam—"

"I mean it. I am sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean." His jaw clenched with determination.

"Oh, so, we're back to revenge, then, are we? Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well last time."

"Not revenge. Redemption."

"So, what, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?"

"Look, Dean, I can do this. I can. I'm gonna prove it to you." The earnestness in his voice was heart-breaking. Hope drained from his face as silence returned his proclamation.

"Look, Sam, it doesn't matter, whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the, uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good."

"Dean, it does not have to be like this. We can fight it." He was almost begging.

"Yeah, you're right. We can. But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us, love, family, whatever it is, they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that. Yeah, we're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways." Dean wished he could go back in time and punch himself in the face.

"Dean, don't do this." Even in the low light, Dean could see that his eyes were wet.

"Bye, Sam." The line went dead. Overcoming his shock, Sam threw the phone in the passenger seat and put his foot down on the accelerator. Tears blurred his vision as he sped down the empty road.

"Sam…" Dean whispered, reaching out for his hurting brother. Lucifer watched intently.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, pounding on the steering wheel. "I can't, I can't do this without you…" He slammed on the brakes. The car grumbled but acquiesced. He picked up the phone and scrolled to Bobby's number. He stared at it, his finger hovering over the button. He snapped it shut and let it slide out of his hand. He gripped the steering wheel and let out a primal yell. Abruptly, he stopped and collected himself. He pulled down the visor mirror and stared at his tired face. He breathed in and out deeply. "I'm sorry, Dean. But I can't do this alone. And I will never say 'yes' to Lucifer." He slung his body over to his bag on the floor of the passenger seat and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun.

"Sam, what are you doing?!" Dean uttered in fear. "Don't you dare do this!"

"Let's see if you're lying, Lucifer. Come and get me, you son of a bitch!" Sam yelled and put the muzzle against his chin as he tilted his head back. Dean tried to stop him but he just passed through Sam. "See you on the other side, Dean," he murmured as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger.

Blood and brain tissue spattered Dean and he recoiled. The gun fell with a sharp clang as Dean wiped his brother from his face. A similarly decorated Lucifer spit out a tooth and looked at Dean expectantly. Dean wasn't aware of anything but Sam's obliterated head in front of him. "Sammy, no!" Dean wailed repeatedly, throwing himself on Sam.

"You killed him, Dean," Lucifer said quietly. "Your rejection killed him. Might as well have pulled the trigger yourself."

"God, Sammy, I'm sorry." Sudden warmth rose beneath him and Dean moved away from Sam. Bright light enveloped his brother's corpse and the unnerving angelic whine filled the car. Dean shielded his eyes and then heard Sam gasp.

"Fuck, he wasn't lying!" Sam exclaimed. The light faded and Dean watched as Sam pulled out a knife and quickly slashed his arm. He painted the angel banishing sigil on his window and waited. The angel whine squealed again and Sam slammed his hand against the symbol so hard the glass shattered. His arm went through the window and a residual piece of glass lodged itself deep in his tricep. Jerking his arm up in surprise, the wound opened up. Blood poured from the gash. Sam groaned with resignation and allowed himself to bleed out. Dean watched in horror as it pooled in his lap. Sam's free hand played with it absently, his fingers slowing as consciousness left him. Eventually they stopped and again the light filled the car. The blood had disappeared so Sam cut himself again, redrew the sigil on the windshield, and gingerly pressed his palm into it when Lucifer tried to appear. He sighed with relief.

"That got annoying so quickly," Lucifer complained. Dean jumped at the sound of his voice, forgetting in his grief that he was not alone. Sam put the car in drive and proceeded calmly down the road. Dean looked at Lucifer and saw nothing but compassion in his eyes. Whether it was for Sam or himself he was unsure. Lucifer blinked and they were back in their original room, Sam still unconscious. Lucifer let out a sad sigh. "He tried so hard to get away from me, to deny me, but it never worked. I told him, I would always just bring him back."

"How many more times did he try!?" Dean squeaked out. His world was spinning so fast he could barely keep up. "It was only a few hours between those phone calls!"

"Oh, a dozen or so, give or take. He was very efficient. Took him a while to figure out nothing he did would stop me. Silver knife to the heart, a car crash, hanging in a church, torched himself with holy oil...that one was tricky. Had to wait til the damn fire burnt itself out. Was barely anything left." Dean's mouth hung open, shock paralyzing every cell. "What, he didn't tell you?" He scoffed. "Sam has always been _so_ _forthcoming_ with you." Lucifer stifled a chuckle.

"Why... why didn't you tell me?" he asked Sam's unresponsive shape.

"He tried to, Dean. You didn't want to listen!" Lucifer almost sounded angry, like a father disappointed with a disobedient son. Dean knew that tone anywhere. "So is it any surprise he turned to me, trusted himself to defeat me alone rather than depend on you for help? You abandoned him, Dean. Fed your little brother to the devil. Hey, with me, you shoulda read the label first. Nothing but pain for Sam no matter how this turned out. He didn't want it any other way. But you? You, Dean, you pushed him here. You are responsible for Sam's suffering."

The anguish threatened to swallow Dean whole. He fell to his knees beside Sam and held his face in his hands. The touch woke Sam from his slumber. "D'n?" he asked softly.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm sorry I ever left you," Dean blurted out.

Lucifer lifted his legs from his footrest. "If you were really sorry, you'd stop doing it. But you'll always leave Sam. You never loved him. Not like I love him. In the end, you'll abandon Sam like his mother and father and all he'll be left with is me." Lucifer's voice was an odd mixture of accusatory and protective. The dissonance extracted Dean from the situation enough for him to remember where he was. This was all in Sam's head. Perhaps he could take command and guide the course of Sam's dream.

Dean allowed his righteous anger to bubble up as he rose. "You are one to fucking talk. You make a big show of pretending to care about protecting Sam but the one he needs protection from is you." He jabbed a finger towards the devil. "You think you can play with him like a—"

"He _is_ mine," Lucifer interjected quietly.

"No, he's not. You only want him to be. You're a selfish, greedy bastard. Always have been, wanted God all to yourself."

"Don't you talk about my Father," Lucifer hissed.

Dean forced out an amused chuckle. "Still got a soft spot for the man upstairs." Lucifer bristled and Dean thought he looked like a caged animal. Dean smirked. "My brother was right about you. A spoiled, whiny child in need of a serious beatdown. God probably thought you weren't worth the effort. Easier to put you in time-out."

Lucifer seethed but maintained his composure. "You humans wouldn't understand."

"Uh-huh," Dean answered knowingly, appreciating the rise he was getting out of the devil.

"You are small minded and insignificant. You have no concept of the grandeur of Creation, the complexities of the universe, the inner workings of all that my Father has made."

"Maybe not but that's hardly what this is about. This is about you being mad that you're not Daddy's favorite anymore. And why Sam has to suffer for that is beyond me."

"Sam denied me my destiny. Upset the natural order. Even Death wants to punish you two for that. But the real reason?" Lucifer leaned towards him and smiled, and Dean realized he had unwittingly relinquished control on the conversation by invoking Sam. "I have to keep Sam vulnerable and open, ready for when I spring out of that box. He's said 'yes' once; it's only a matter of time before that emptiness eats him up. He will let me in again."

The certainty with which Lucifer spoke spawned icy tendrils of fear that curled around Dean's heart. He filled his voice will false bravado. "Yeah, like that's ever going to happen."

Lucifer nodded slowly. "It will. And so much sooner than you think. Sammy will come to me. Begging for my help. I can feel it. Just like when I knew Sam would say 'yes' in Detroit."

"You can't possibly know that." Dean tried to keep the doubt out of his voice. The deprecating smile Lucifer returned told him he had failed.

"The way you Winchesters stick your noses into things, you'll be wishing for the good ol' Apocalypse. I mean, you've already released the Leviathan. Guess you lot miss the weight of the world ending because of your folly. Someday you're gonna get yourself in such a mess you'll require an archangel's help. God's MIA, Gabriel and Raphael are dead, Michael's not really in fighting shape… And the way you two burn through allies, hell, all you're gonna have left to turn to are enemies. Thus you'll need me. And I'll need Sam. So Dean, take care of my vessel for me, will you?" Dean didn't know how to respond. Obviously he would always take care of Sam so he couldn't say no, but he also didn't want to agree to anything the devil was asking of him. Instead he said nothing. Lucifer took this to mean acceptance. "Good man," Lucifer praised as he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. Extreme cold radiated from his fingertips. "See you in a few years, Dean."

* * *

Dean woke with a violent start. "Sam?" He called out, reaching for his brother as his eyes strained against the darkness. "You awake?" Silence, a moan, and then a gut wrenching scream answered his query. Dean flung himself out of bed, ignoring the pain from his leg, and turned on the light. Sam was clutching his stomach, agony painting his features. He grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him. "Sam, wake up. Sammy! Snap out of it!"

Sam brought his arms up to shield his face. "Dean," he gasped.

"I'm right here, Sammy."

"Stop, get away," he cried as he pushed against him. "Don't hurt me anymore, please, I'll do whatever you want."

"You don't need to fight me!" He grabbed Sam's flailing wrists and held him tight. Dean could feel his racing pulse.

"This isn't you, Dean. You can stop this, please!" Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The slight pause gave Sam the opportunity to escape. Dean recaptured him and pinned his wrists to the bed. Sam mewed pitifully then his body arched in pain. "Dean!" He was begging now, desperation cracking his voice. "You're... you're not in Hell. You don't need to do this." Rage flushed through Dean as he realized what was happening.

"Oh you angelic bastard!" Dean growled. He shook Sam harder but this only drew a gasping whimper from Sam. Sam began to wheeze and claw at his chest and Dean could only imagine which technique the dream him was applying to his little brother. He slapped Sam hard on the cheek.

Sam's eyes snapped open and his fear deepened as he beheld his torturer immediately in front of him. He scrambled away and fell off the bed, his head clunking unceremoniously on the floor. He pushed himself into the corner of the room, hiding behind the woodstove, arms outstretched in a pathetic attempt to keep Dean away. Dean slowly approached him, trying to appear non-threatening but not totally sure how that would look. Sam pulled his body into himself and clasped his hands over his head. Dean crouched before him. He braced for Dean's attack and was confused when Dean didn't move. He brought a hand down and stared at Dean fearfully. "Do... do you really hate me that much?" Sam whispered. Dean's heart wanted to burst as he struggled for words. He reached for Sam and his brother flinched so hard Dean thought he would dislocate something.

"Sam, no, that wasn't me, that was Lucifer."

Sam shook his head. "Don't lie to me. He was there, I saw him. Didn't even need to make you, you... you wanted to..." His tone changed abruptly. "I'm sorry Dean. I wish you'd let me die in that fire. Everything would be okay then."

"No, Sammy, I wouldn't give that up, I wouldn't give you up for the world."

"Don't lie. Lucifer says you shouldn't lie. He doesn't lie..." He trailed off, shaking.

"Sam, it's fucking Satan, of course he lies. It wasn't me. The last thing I remember is Lucifer and me arguing. You seemed to wake up but I don't know if you were with us. I pulled a you, called him a spoiled, whiny child. God, he did not like that!" Dean smiled genuinely.

"No, you're lying, you're just trying to trick me. Make me trust you before you tear me apart again." Sam's fear was supplanted with disdain and defiance.

It took Dean everything he had not to scream. This felt impossible. Just when he had his brother back on solid ground, the tsunami of Lucifer swept him away again. How long before he was washed out to sea? Dean forced himself not to think about it. "What do I need to do to prove to you I am actually your flesh and blood brother?"

"Kill me." The answer was so immediate it caught Dean off-guard.

"What?! No!"

"The real Dean would put me out of my misery. He'd have mercy on me. You, you will keep me alive forever so you can play with me whenever strikes your fancy." His voice was edged with accusatory anger. "Even Lucifer has the generosity to kill me, give me those sweet few milliseconds of nothingness as a reward. You're worse than him!" Sam mustered his strength and spit at Dean.

"Really, Sam?" Dean wiped the saliva from his face and stared at the fragile form in front of him. He was at a loss. He threw his head back in exasperation and groaned. A shadow in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he had to do a double take.

"Hello, Dean," Lucifer purred with a little wave, savoring Dean's physical and mental recoil. "Didn't expect to see me here, huh?"

"You-you can't be here," Dean replied incredulously. _Unless... No, that's not possible. I can't_ catch _Sam's hallucinations..._

"Unless what? C'mon, I know you're thinking it," Lucifer prompted, approaching him.

"That's not how dream root works," Dean stated. "You don't bring things back from the person you dream walked."

"Since when did you become such an expert? That one time you used it on Bobby? Right." Lucifer scoffed. "Anyway, Sam hardly has a normal brain. He's splitting the rent with an archangel, so the normal rules don't exactly apply." Lucifer's face crinkled in contempt for Dean's failure to understand. "Think of me like a mold. You go in, get a few spores on you, and wham! Before you know it, I'm inside you, creeping around your foundation, eating away at you." A sense of dread and helplessness settled on Dean.

"Dean, did you really think you ever had any power here? I'm an archangel, you're a human. You can't stop any of this. All these years, all these tragedies, they've been planned. All to bring upon the Earth the Apocalypse that Dad so clearly wanted. Your mom dying, Sam dying, you going to Hell, the angels could have stopped all of this. Castiel knew it all but allowed it. You're just pawns, don't you get it? Just tools to be used to reach an end. Until that's achieved, your misery will be incomplete. And now I've got both of you!" he exclaimed gleefully.

"And no, I won't leave Sam alone, either. Oh the joys of multitasking!" Lucifer snapped his fingers and barbed wire restrained both men. "Now, Dean. I'll give you a one-time offer. Work some of your magic on Sammy for my viewing pleasure and I'll free you both for the evening." He looked to Sam, who was regarding them with equal terror. "Dean was right, it was me earlier. But I think Dean could show me a few things." The demon blade materialized in his hands and he held it out towards Dean.

"No, I won't hurt Sam." Dean was resolute.

"You won't _actually_ be hurting him. It will just feel like it," Lucifer offered. "Like I said, gotta keep that fine packaging pristine for you-know-what," he said such that only Dean could hear. "A generous offer, if I say so myself, which I do." Dean remained silent. "No? Such a shame. Because I know for a fact Sam wouldn't return the favor. Right Sammy?"

They both looked to Sam, who had already risen. He stared intently at Dean as his eyes turned black. Concentrating, he lifted his arm. Dean felt tightness closing around him. Sam's grunts of effort were punctuated by Lucifer's rippling laugh. Dean couldn't make a sound as all the air was squeezed from his body. He felt his internal organs collapsing and his bones crunching. He took one last look at Sam, realized the betrayal hurt more than the physical pain, and then imploded.

* * *

Darkness loomed all around Dean. "This isn't how I remember Heaven," Dean grumbled, rubbing his eyes. _Is that... are those... snores?_ Dean willed his eyes to adjust. Faint moonlight illuminated the familiar surroundings of the cabin. Dean looked about in confusion; was he actually back in the cabin or was it another of Lucifer's tricks? With that thought came a profound understanding of Sam's situation. It was damn near impossible to decipher reality from hallucination at any given moment. He located his feet and propelled himself off the bed to Sam. He appeared to be contently sleeping. Dean found Sam's left hand and felt the rough torn tissue against his smooth fingers. Frowning, he gave the hand a crushing squeeze. He knew he should let Sam sleep but he needed to know what was real; he needed Sam.

Sam's other hand came to the rescue even before he opened his eyes. Dean flicked on the bedside lamp. Bewildered, Sam pushed himself back against the wall and stared at his hand. "Do you see him?" Dean demanded, inwardly wincing at the gruffness of voice.

Sam looked around the cabin before refocusing on Dean. "Uh, no. I probably won't after that!" He shook his hand, glaring at Dean.

"Sorry man, I had to know."

"Know what?" Sam was perplexed and Dean felt annoyed that he even had to explain.

"Had to know that this was real." He looked back shyly to Sam, only to find his expression full of sympathy. "God, Sam... how..." he trailed off, at a loss for words.

"How do I deal with it?" Sam supplied, his lips curling in a wistful smile. "I don't know. Sometimes I can't." Dean wanted to wrap his brother in a tight embrace but the memory of Lucifer caressing his brother kept him from nearing Sam. Personal space meant something a hell of a lot different now. Despite his best attempts to block them out, the memories came flooding in and it was all Dean could manage to hobble over and fling himself at the toilet in time. Sam followed wordlessly, leaning on the door frame as Dean wretched violently. The burning pain was a welcome respite from thinking about everything he had just experienced. Sam waited patiently as Dean choked on his sobs and bile. After a few minutes, Dean rose and splashed cold water over his face but found this reminded him of Lucifer's touch. He turned the knob to steaming hot and buried his face in the painful stream. Sam watched silently and offered a towel when Dean was finished.

Dean avoided Sam's eyes, his voice wavering like a leaf in a hurricane. "Sam, I, uh, thank you for—you," his voice cracked, "—you didn't have to—you shouldn't have—you didn't have to offer yourself up like that. I—" His throat closed before he could finish his thought.

Sam interrupted him, his voice surprisingly clear and bright. "It was only right, Dean. I would never wish that on my worst enemy, and especially not you. You would have fought so hard and that only makes him angrier and more... creative in his violence." Dean clenched his eyes shut. _You sound like an abused spouse._ "In the beginning, I fought until I died. Generally he got frustrated and just ganked me. Then he deprived me of any contact for days, weeks. Jess would come, offering her touch... It was such sweet relief… but of course it would be him. Took me a time or two before I caught on." The regret in Sam's voice turned sour and an indescribable emotion filled his face. "When that got old, he turned me into Jess and he would be me. And…" he closed his eyes and bit his lip, clearly trying to chase away memories. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Whatever. The point is that I didn't want you to go through that. What's one more time for me? I'm pretty much used to it."

Dean's mind couldn't turn over faster enough to process what he was hearing. Satan made Sam a woman, a woman he loved, and raped him as himself. Just when Dean thought he couldn't hate Lucifer more, Sam revealed some new depth of depravity. _How can you be used to it? I heard your screams… I'll never forget them… That's not used to it!_ He buried his head in his hands and tried to keep the tears in but it was futile. He started to shake as the misery consumed him. Sam sat down next to him on the cool tile and he felt the warmth of Sam's arm stretching around his shoulder. Dean inhaled deeply and attempted to stop the shudder as he exhaled. When he failed, Sam pulled him in and hugged him. "God, Sammy. I should be hugging you." He more felt than heard Sam's low chuckle. Dean pulled out of the embrace and looked at his brother with a sense of wonder and disbelief as the tears dried up. "How are you even vertical? How are you not locked up in a psych ward somewhere?"

The corners of Sam's mouth turned up but it wasn't a full-blown smile. "I don't know, Dean. I mean, I did a lot of bad stuff, I'm responsible for who knows how many deaths. And while my suffering can't change that, I feel it somehow balances out. I was in Hell six times longer than I've even been alive. That has to mean something."

"But... I mean, the stuff now. You're practically being stalked by Lucifer."

"The memory of Lucifer," Sam corrected.

Dean considered whether to share what Lucifer had told him. He decided against it but his awkward pause had drawn an interested look from Sam. He was too exhausted to lie. "What if it's not just his memory?"

"As in, it's actually Lucifer here torturing me?" Sam looked dubious.

"Well, that's, uh, that's what he told me."

"What, did he say that he's a part of me, that some of his grace is in me? That's he's keeping the connection going for when he comes back?" Dean nodded his head silently. He was surprised by Sam's candid response, though he wasn't sure why he was shocked. Lucifer had said he'd tried to talk to Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yeah, old dog, old tricks. Trust me, I would know it if I still had that bastard's grace inside of me!" Sam's voice was ferocious but his face was mostly calm.

"How... how did it feel?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "When I said 'yes'?" His voice was tight. Dean did not reply but Sam knew he was curious. Dean had never asked much about Lucifer's possession. Sam figured Dean still hadn't quite come to terms with it. He let out a little laugh. How could simple words ever be enough to explain what had happened? "At first it felt like my body was breaking into a million little pieces and then those pieces were thrown into the sun and then the ash was dumped into a vat of acid which was ejected out into the freezing nothingness of space." Dean grimaced. "And then he touched my mind."

Sam paused, as if for dramatic effect. "There was a moment of... I can't explain it. Being dead while being alive? I don't know. Then the grace hit me. Like a firestorm, he came on so strong, sweeping out any resistance. Crushing my existence. It was crippling. That's probably when I passed out. But once I was over the initial shock of it, his grace was cool and comfortable. Oddly soothing." His voice softened. "I hate to admit it, but I felt one, like I belonged." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "For the first time in my life, I felt whole, with the fucking devil possessing me. I felt a sense of peace I've never known before."

He laughed at himself. "I hated myself for it. Lucifer knew it too, used it against me. He knew everything. He crammed himself into every crevice of my being, like he was running out of space. I felt him invading every cell, every thought, every memory. Nothing was mine anymore. And what was his became mine. All his hate and feelings of betrayal. Billions of years of pent up emotions. I was drowning every moment he was inside me, trying to hang on to any scrap of myself. Anything to not be completely obliterated by Lucifer's presence. We were the eye of this world-ending hurricane and all I could do was watch as his power swept out of me and destroyed everything in its wake. Goddam miracle I was able to wrestle back control for a few minutes."

Dean took a moment to process everything he had just heard. "And when you jumped in the cage?"

"His grace was ripped out. Don't know if it's some property of the cage or what. Adam's soul got booted and sent to heaven, at least I think that's what I saw. Since I was still alive, Lucifer got kicked out of his vessel."

"Now that you're out?"

Sam chuckled darkly to himself. "I'm not sure I'd know where to find his fucking grace in the gaping hole left behind." Fear washed over Dean's face. Isn't that what Lucifer had said? That there was a hole in the vessel that could only be filled by the angel? "No Dean, not a hole from Lucifer or whatever bullshit he spewed in your ear. Just a hole from having your life torn from you millions of times." His voice was turning angry.

"How did you know what I was thinking?" _Please tell me I'm not still in some fucked-up_ _dream. Don't be Lucifer, dammit._

"Because I know Lucifer. Probably better than God himself." Sam's voice was thick with bitter sarcasm. Sam smirked. "He made such a big deal about time. How much time he spent with me. That he had been with me far longer than you had. As if that counted for something. But I got to know him as well as he knew me. If that bastard ever comes back, I will never say 'yes' again no matter what happens." The resolution in his voice eased some of the tightness in Dean's chest. Suddenly he heard Lucifer's voice, explaining how Sam would be begging for his help soon and he forced his mind to change the subject.

"Yeah, Sammy, that's another thing…"

"What?" Sam snapped, defensive. He caught Dean's compassionate look. "Sorry, man."

"No, Sam, it's fine. It's just... why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you…" he sighed. "That you killed yourself." _There, I said it._

"When, after I found out I was Lucifer's vessel?" Dean nodded. _Wait, was there another time you killed yourself?!_ Sam scoffed incredulously. "What else was I supposed to do, Dean? If you remember, you wanted nothing to do with me. I wasn't exactly Bobby's favorite person at that point. Not like I was gonna let Lucifer just have me."

Guilt surged over Dean. "So your answer was to kill yourself? Repeatedly?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond then shut it. He eyed Dean carefully. "How do you even know about that?"

"He showed me. Took me inside your memory of that fucking night. I'm so sorry, Sam. I was such a dick. I should never have said those things to you. I didn't realize how much you needed me. It didn't cross my mind that you would do that. I was just so tired of it all. It's no excuse though," he ended lamely.

Sam was somewhat astonished by Dean's candid admission but shrugged despondently. "Didn't matter anyway. He just brought me back. Like he said he would. But I had to test it. I tried everything I could think of." Sam seemed disappointed he had failed to die.

"Did you really set yourself on fire?"

Sam laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. That was my last attempt. Took a bath in holy oil, even drank some. Stood in one of those little inflatable kiddie pools filled with gasoline. That really should have worked. Would have been a fitting way to go, don't you think? Mom, Jess, me..." The image of Sam inflating a kiddie pool was almost funny to Dean if it hadn't been so damn tragic. "I got an earful from Lucifer on that one." Sam almost giggled. "Man, was he pissed!"

Dean smiled at the thought of Lucifer frustrated by his little brother. But it didn't overcome the sorrow threatening to drown him. "Hey, don't you ever pull a stunt like that again. I don't care how bad things get, if I'm dead or missing or I say I hate you-whatever. You need to always keep fighting, no matter what. 'Cause I swear to God, if you kill yourself, I'm gonna be right behind you to kick your ass."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Had you said that…"

Dean clenched his eyes shut. "I know, Sam, I know. I let you down and for that I am truly sorry. I should have been there for you. At least not hung up the phone." The desperation in Sam's voice as he begged 'Dean, don't do this' clawed at his heart.

A warm hand clasped his shoulder. "Dean, considering all the times I've let you down, I think we can just call it even."

Dean let out a sad chuckle. "I don't get you, man."

"Yeah, well, join the club," Sam replied. "Here." He held out a hand to help Dean up. Dean grasped his brother's hand and was heartened by the youthful strength Sam displayed. Nothing at all like the way he was in his dreams. He knew now he had underestimated both Lucifer's depravity and Sam's resilience.

He gripped Sam's shoulders tight and looked into his eyes. They were solemn but somehow still hopeful. "Sam. I don't know whether to thank you or hate you for that experience, but, I think I get what you mean. And I understand now, I understand that reality isn't so simple. Whatever I can do to help."

Sam smiled, his appreciation for his brother softening some of the exhaustion lines on his face. "For the most part, it's okay when I'm awake. I can fend him off. Sleeping is still hard. I'm so... defenseless in my own mind. Because for a little bit, it wasn't just me in my head. Not sure that's something you ever get over. Most of the other archangel's vessels are in comas when they leave. I think you could say I came out of it pretty well!"

"I can't let you go through that every night," Dean announced resolutely.

Sam shrugged. "It's a drop in the ocean. Not like he can do much to me that he hasn't already done."

"That's not the point. Do you—do you even remember the sleep you just had?"

Sam went a little limp. "Sort of." He looked up anxiously at Dean. "It all sort of blurs together," he said quietly. "I remember attacking you, knowing that it was actually you this time, that you were in my head, and being powerless to stop it. I know Lucifer, uh…" His Adam's apple danced awkwardly as he glanced at Dean and saw that he understood. Neither wanted to hear the words out loud. "Then you were torturing me and—"

"That was Lucifer, not me," Dean interjected.

"Good to know, I guess," Sam responded, seemingly indifferent as to whether it was really Dean or not. Dean frowned. He thought it would reassure Sam but clearly his little brother was beyond caring.

"And I remember killing you only to wake up and still be tortured by you. Then you pressed my hand and that woke me up." It bothered Dean that all the other physical torture inflicted by Lucifer didn't even garner a mention. He wondered if Sam could remember what it was to not feel pain.

Dean bit his lip. Everything about this sucked. "Sam, you begged me to kill you in your dream. Several times."

Sam lifted his shoulders weakly, unaffected. The need for sleep was clawing at his consciousness. "Probably just force of habit. Death was the only release I would get before Lucifer would resurrect me." Sam neglected to mention the moments of oneness he would feel when Lucifer let him into his celestial consciousness. That was too mortifying to share with anyone.

"How fucked-up are our lives that death is a good thing?" Dean asked sadly, shaking his head.

Sam's tired face displayed an impish smile. "I don't know, you and capital-d Death seem to get along pretty well."

Dean had to laugh at that. "What can I say? I've just got a winning personality."

Sam nodded in agreement and looked like he was about to make a witty retort but was interrupted by an aggressive yawn. His body was teetering on the edge of sheer exhaustion and the adrenaline was wearing off. He blinked firmly to focus his energy but it was pointless. His body was surrendering to sleep whether his mind wanted to or not. Lucifer had left him alone since he woke up and he wanted to take advantage of the respite while it lasted. He made his way to the bed, Dean's pleas barely registering.

"Hey, we're not done here! We gotta fix this, figure something out."

Sam waved a hand in Dean's general direction, dismissing his concern. "We'll deal with it later. Too tired…" he mumbled as he collapsed into the pillow. He felt a cool weight next to him and he didn't care, except to quietly say "Fuck off, Lucifer," before passing out.

Dean ambled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, preparing to grab a beer. He stopped himself mid-motion, deciding he needed something stronger. Much stronger. The only way to survive the despair infiltrating his soul was to drink himself into oblivion. He raised the bottle of bourbon and made a toast to his dad before downing a long swig of the burning liquid. Images of Sam's suffering bubbled up and he struggled against his mind to suppress them. It was too much for any one person to bear. Dean sank into the couch and let his head fall back.

 _How could Sam even function? No wonder he didn't like to sleep._ Dean couldn't blame him. But he needed to. He had to get Sam to sleep consistently, no matter what they had to do. That might mean pushing it down and letting it come out in spurts of violence and alcoholism, but that was better than the current strategy of nothing. With renewed vigor, he vowed to ask Bobby and any other hunter he knew about ways to improve Sam's ability to sleep. Even if Dean had to dream walk Sam every night and find ways to fight off Lucifer, he would do it. Sam didn't deserve any of this. Hadn't he already suffered enough? Dean sighed and took another gulp of the amber anesthetic, finishing what he had poured. He decided it was best to succumb to the Winchester way. He cut out the middle man and discarded the glass for the bottle. He pondered whether his heart would give out before his liver, which was really saying something. But that was a concern for a new day. Right now, he just had to survive this agony.

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Please review and follow for the next update.


	12. Day 10

Ugh, so I'm a terrible person. When I said I was taking a break for a little bit, I thought like a month or two. But the muse just up and left and I've been struggling ever since. Also got distracted by another plot bunny that won't let me rest but requires I rewatch all of season 4, so, kinda stuck there too. Can't promise how frequently I'll update due to work, health, and life, but I'm not giving up on this story!

If you read the previous chapters prior to January 2018, the beginning section of Day 8 has been updated and completed in a way I feel much more satisfied with. Got fed up with the end of this chapter and just threw in the towel. May come back to it like I did with Day 8.

Shout out to Noxbait, whose story "Face Down in the Desert" inspired to get back to it and finish writing this chapter. Was also diagnosed with fibromyalgia today and Sam may have taken the brunt of the anger later in the chapter. Sorry, Sam.

 **Warnings for Day 10:** Mentions of rape, suicide. Lots of blood and guts, as per usual with Lucifer.

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 **Day 10**

Dean had stumbled outside after his eighth beer and what had to be fifteen shots. His vision spun violently and he had to drag himself against the hands of gravity pulling him down. He felt like he was going to throw up, cry, or scream, and whichever occurred he wanted to be out of earshot as much as possible. Sam seemed to be resting peacefully for once. He let the empty beer bottles he'd brought out to hide from Sam and the full six pack of beer fall as he collapsed on the steps. He didn't want Sam to judge him for his dive into alcoholism. He cracked open a can and took a deep gulp, then set it aside as he held his head in his hands. The images of Lucifer entering Sam in so many ways antagonized him mercilessly. Sam's screams played endlessly in his head, though the more he drank, the quieter they became. He gingerly went through his own memories of Hell. He couldn't recall being violated in that way, that wasn't Alistair's style, but he had a vague memory of possibly perpetrating that ugly crime on some racked souls. He supposed it made sense: Sam had denied Lucifer use of his body for so long. When he finally obtained control only to have Sam overpower him at the last moment, it must have enraged Lucifer beyond comprehension. It was a war for autonomy and Sam had won when it mattered. The next best way to both _be in_ and _punish_ his vessel was to…

Pain flared in his stomach and vomit surged up his throat. He let it all out as the thought of Sam being _raped_ over and over again blared in his head. Dean wanted to die. The more he learned about Sam's time in the cage, the more he realized he had failed Sam on so many levels. What the fuck had he been thinking? Letting Sam jump into Hell?! Into the cage?! Overwhelming guilt consumed him and he wept openly and loudly, allowing the violent spasms of his sobs to wrack his body.

After bawling for longer than he would ever admit, he slumped against the railing, exhausted. He swished his mouth out with the rest of his beer and spit it out over the previously anointed bottles. As acidic saliva dripped from his mouth, he pondered their current state of affairs. They had both been to Hell. But his Hell was barely a scratch compared to Sam's. And Sam seemed to accept this as his fate. He didn't even fight… he just knew to take it, going so far as to beg for it, to save Dean. Sam! His precious little brother, tortured, humiliated, broken at the hands of the worst evil they'd ever known. _Sam. His Sammy._ Letting out a strangled cry, he punched the railing until his knuckles opened and messy red stared back at him. Blood. God, there was so much blood in Sam's dream… And yet here he was, breathing and alive.

A flicker of hope danced through Dean as he considered the wonder that was his brother. How could Sam have woken up after the wall was smashed? How could Sam wake up every day and actually function? His baby brother was a miracle. But that miracle came at a steep price, he reminded himself. Sam may be alive, but was it a life worth living? His mind went to Sam repeatedly pleading for death and Dean's heart tore in two. Did he really think that was the only release? Sam implied the only peace he got in the cage was the space between death and resurrection.

The desire for death darted through his own mind. It was attractive: it was the only way to silence Sam's screams, his begging, his desperate cries for mercy. Lucifer's voice prowled insidiously in his brain. He failed to suppress a shout, frustration getting the better of him. He wished he could go for a drive and blast music until his eardrums bled. Damn his leg. He could do so much more for Sam if he could walk…

Who was he kidding? What could he actually do to help Sam? Sam's brain was hellbent -literally- on destroying him. What could Dean do to stop that? He blew his breath out through pursed lips and pushed away the melancholy. Sam had asked him to do this because he believed in Dean. He trusted Dean with immense vulnerabilities and needed Dean to support him in whatever way he could. He owed Sam that much. He'd known he was taking a risk putting his soul back, but he'd been so eager to have his brother back that he ignored the warnings. At least Sam wasn't locked inside himself, as Cas has theorized. He was here. He had survived the unsurvivable, beaten all the odds. His soul had been shredded and his mind ripped apart but here he was. It was up to Dean to put him back together, piece by agonizing piece. And everything be damned, he'd do it or die trying.

* * *

Sam's eyes fluttered open gently, the first natural awakening he'd had since – well, since he could remember. He blinked against the midmorning sun and smiled. Had he actually slept for more than four hours uninterrupted?! He stretched his arms and swung his legs out of the bed, expecting to see Dean across from him. The cot was empty so he rose and went to the couch, which was also uninhabited. The coffee table, however, was strewn with empty beer bottles and at least two bottles of hard liquor. Anxiety rose within Sam. Clearly this had been really tough on Dean. Maybe Lucifer had been right: maybe this was too much for Dean to handle.

"Don't wanna say 'I told you so,' but, I told you so. But you never listen to me, Sammy. Like always…" Lucifer grumbled, trudging behind Sam. Sam was leaving the bathroom on his search for his brother when he heard the front door open. Dean stumbled in, his gait uncoordinated and his hair disheveled. Lucifer vanished as panic consumed Sam, who searched Dean for any sign of an injury. Uneven eyes focused on Sam and he half-raised a hand to point at Sam.

"Ssshammmy…" he slurred, holding onto the doorknob for support. His crutch lagged in his other hand. Sam's long legs quickly crossed the space and he held Dean up. "You," the scent of alcohol on his breath was suffocating, "you are disssgusting. Don' touch me!" He pushed Sam, causing Dean to fall over. Sam approached him but he waved away Sam's attention. "I don' wan someone grossss like you touchin' me." Sam stepped back but Dean continued. "I mean, wha, you just let anyone in? Ghost, demon, devil? Gettin' kinda used up, Ssammy. Neksht I know you'll be slummin' round wif demon whores ahgain. You'd fit right in cuz yer such a sslut yerself." He waved a hand at Sam. "Go 'way, Sam. Leave me 'lone. I don' wan someone weak hunting wif me. Can't trusht you to have mah back if yer brain's all Luc'fer infes'ed. You're a mess. Useless."

Sam blinked in shock then shook his head. "You – you don't mean that. You're just drunk."

Dean shrugged and pushed himself up from the floor. He spoke slowly, carefully enunciating his words. "Drunk, sober, what's it matter? You're sstill the same fucked up you. Doesn' change a damn thing."

Sam repeated his previous actions, adding more vigor to his denial. "You wouldn't say this stuff normally. You don't mean it."

"That's where you're wrong, Sammy. I norm'ly don't say this shtuff cuz you're such a baby. If I said any of this you'd be a big blubbering mess and you'd whine and cry and sulk and get one of us killed on a hunt. Bad news follows you if you haven't noticed. Been fucking up my life ever since you were a baby."

A tremble in Sam's voice betrayed the doubt in his conviction. "That wasn't my fault."

"But if you hadn't been born…" ' _My life would have been great,'_ though left unsaid, was clearly the intended sentiment.

"I—I'm sorry." His eyes brimmed with moisture.

"Fat lot of good that does me now. Look at this." He gestured to the crutch leaning against the table. "My leg's busted because of you. Mom's dead, Dad's dead. I've died. All because of you. Wish you'd never been born."

Sam bit his lip but a rogue tear broke free. Dean spotted it and rolled his eyes. "See, this is just what I mean. Little two year old sniffling all the time." Dean sank down into the couch, his back turned from Sam.

"But, Dean, then why did you always work so hard to protect me?" Sam moved so he could see Dean's face.

Dean's mouth curled into an ugly shape. "Guess Dad brainwashed me well. Now though? I see what a loser you are. Never could keep your shit together. There's always something with you, man." Dean grabbed one of the bottles from the coffee table and went to take a swig but found it empty. He huffed angrily and rose to get another drink.

Sam reached out and snagged Dean's sleeve. His throat tight, he plied Dean's sympathy one more time. "But, we're brothers… You said–"

Dean ripped his arm out of Sam's grasp and turned, a vicious expression on his face. "No, Sam, we're not. You have demon blood in you. You've had the devil in you. You're not my brother. You're not even human. You're a monster. Dad was right. I—"

"Don't say it, Dean, please," Sam begged, tears streaming down his face.

Dean raised the bottle above his head and brought it down as he spat "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Dean!" Sam cried before the cold glass made contact with his temple and he crumpled to the ground. Dean's rage unappeased, he dropped to the floor and splayed himself over Sam. Dean's broken leg awkwardly stretched out to the side, pinning one of Sam's arms. His other arm was under his body. With his brother's weight on his stomach, Sam couldn't defend himself or curl into the fetal position he was trying to achieve. Through his tears he could see Dean raise a closed fist.

"You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me, Sam." He brought his fist down into Sam's nose. A sickening crunch answered the blow. "I hate you!" A shot to the jaw made his ears pop painfully. "You deserve everything," a fist sliced his lip against his own teeth, "Lucifer did to you!" A solid strike from bloody knuckles freed a few teeth. "You," punch, "are," punch, "nothing!" Dean screamed, fury contorting his features into a hideous caricature of himself. A volley of punches followed in quick succession. One struck in exactly the same spot as the Leviathan's crowbar and pain exploded in Sam's entire being as darkness swallowed him up. A soft "Dean" escaped his bleeding lips as he fell into the abyss.

* * *

Something scratched at the edges of Dean's consciousness and urged him to wake up. He followed the nagging feeling out of his alcohol assisted slumber and broke through into the midmorning light dancing on his eyelids. "Too bright!" he grumbled and shielded his eyes, groggily gathering his senses. He was surprised to find himself back inside. He pondered that for a moment, then realized what had drawn him from sleep: it was a sound that, for as long as he could remember, was a call to action. Grabbing a crutch, he heaved himself out of the armchair and approached the bed. Sam's tearful whimpering contorted his face and wracked his body even as he slept. Dean's expression scrunched in confusion. Many a time he had heard Sam scream in his sleep. Heard him beg, cry, howl in agony. But never exactly _this_.

Sighing, he sank into the crappy mattress and put a hand on Sam's trembling shoulder. Regret embraced Dean. Now that he thought about it, he had heard this kind of whimpering before: particularly whenever their dad pushed Sam too hard during their training, like when a ten-year-old Sam had refused to kill a tiny fawn whose mother had been eaten by a wendigo or the time John told Sam that if he wouldn't be a hunter then he couldn't be a Winchester. Even an adult Sam had sniveled like this: for weeks after Jess died, the night he killed Madison, when Sam was detoxing from demon blood. He gulped to suppress the nausea rising within him, though whether it was from his memories or the booze he wasn't sure. How had this become their life? Crisis after crisis, battle after battle. Staring at his tormented brother, he felt hopeless. What could he possibly do to change the situation? They might occasionally win the battle but they were losing the war. Yet it only took one word for him to reject desperation, for him to turn and fight.

The older Winchester watched as Sam's cracked lips formed that word, the first word Sam ever spoke, the word that only felt right in his little brother's voice.

A breathy, barely audible "Dean."

Dean shook Sam gently, increasing in vigor until Sam's eyes popped open, fear painted on his face. He softly squeezed Sam's shoulder, hoping to help ground him. Instead, Sam saw the blood on Dean's knuckles, believed it was his own blood, and recoiled so violently Dean had to catch himself before he fell off the bed. Sam tucked his head in under his arms and brought his knees up, crunching his body into an unbelievably tiny ball. "I'm sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'll leave. Right now. Go and never come back."

"Stop. Stop this," Dean urged, hoping to end the panic before Sam revved himself into a frenzy. Dean reached out to touch Sam, who made himself impossibly smaller. He clenched his hands around Sam's wrists and pulled as hard as he could. "Stop, Sam!"

Sam resisted momentarily then surrendered, becoming limp. "Okay, okay. I won't even fight. Hit me. Get it all out."

"What?!" Dean exclaimed, confused. He dropped Sam's arms.

"Just do it!" Sam cried, bracing himself for the impending blows. None came and Sam relaxed slightly, his eyes slowly moving up to meet Dean's. Silence held them for a few seconds as both tried to make sense of the situation.

"Sam. What's happening?"

Sam blinked in confusion, struggling to decipher reality from hallucination from nightmare. He brought his hands to his face and felt for blood and shattered tissue. Shocked when his hands came away clean, he looked up at Dean, eyes wide. Moisture still made his eyes shine and Dean couldn't help but see a much younger, vulnerable Sam in this man's face.

"Sammy?" Dean queried softly, hoping to gain his rattled brother's trust.

"Dean?"

"I'm here."

Sam smiled ruefully. "I know you are. I, just, I…" Dean waited as Sam attempted to get the words out. "Do… do you hate me?" He flicked a glance at Dean but looked away as Dean's expression warred between anger and incredulity. Dean wondered if this was some buried memory from the dream walking the previous night.

"Hate you? You think I hate you, Sam?"

Sam gestured to the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. _Dammit, I missed one,_ Dean thought _._ "That isn't really the hallmark of someone who's happy."

"Well, yeah, I'm not happy, but that doesn't mean I hate you. Why would you think that?"

"Because you said it — well, I thought you said it…" Sam pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, eyes clenched tight. "You said—"

"He said," Dean interjected.

Sam nodded weakly. "He said that I was disgusting and that I'm," he paused, trying to suppress the waver in his voice, "getting kind of used up."

"You're not disgusting, Sam. Why would you be disgusting? What do you mean, getting used up?"

"Because I've had so many…" His throat was closing now. "… things inside me…" He started to curl in on himself again. "A ghost, a demon, the devil himself. Said I belong with the demon whores because I'm one myself."

"You do know how to make an angel happy…" Lucifer crooned, close enough that Sam could feel his breath on his neck, and Sam couldn't stop himself from jumping. "I'd give you a five-star review on Yelp. Great place to stay except for the early check-out time."

Dean wanted to pull his hair out. He had hoped to never speak of those things again. He wasn't sure he could bear it. The alcohol just about kept those thoughts out of reach. "Sam, no. I don't even know how — just, no. We're hunters. We come across a lot of bad stuff. Some of that is bound to get under our skin — literally."

Sam shrugged away Dean's explanation. "That wasn't the worst though. You — he said that he hated me because I had ruined your life and if I had never been born everything would have been great. That you shoulda killed me when you had the chance… You then proceeded to take your opportunity and beat the shit out of me."

"Actually killed you. Smashed your face in," Lucifer supplied, making himself comfortable on the bed.

Dean shook his head. "Sam, you know the only time I use force is when you're not in your right mind." Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean doubtfully. "You know what I mean. Like when you were strung out or when you didn't have a soul." Sam dropped his head in shame and began to ball into himself again. _Fuck. Great going there, Dean. Bring up all his worst moments to make him feel better._ "No, hey, I didn't mean it like that." Dean grabbed his chin and pulled his face up, forcing Sam to look at him. Dean's features were firm and his eyes earnest. The alcohol made his tongue loose and his heart open. At least that's what he would claim later. "I'm not disgusted by you. I don't regret you being here. My life would be meaningless without you, man. Of all the things I've done, being your big brother has been my greatest accomplishment."

"Not that that's saying a whole lot…" Lucifer said under his breath as he picked at his fingernails.

Sam curled his bottom lip into his mouth, weighing the validity of Dean's statements. Sam's eyes were enlarging into puppy dog's and Dean knew he needed to keep going to ground the kid.

"Sam, if anything, I'm amazed by you. Amazed by your strength. That you get up every morning despite what you go through. Fuck, the fact that you even survived the wall breaking down is incredible. Death and Cas thought it would kill you, or worse. But here you are, fighting the good fight. What you showed me, Sam, what happened to you, I…" He glanced away briefly, trying to find the right words. When he looked back, he could see that Sam was hanging on to his every word as if his life depended on it. "You've been killed countless times, suffered unimaginable agony, been violated in mind, body, and soul, and still, still! Here you are. You woke up to save me and Bobby from Cas even though all Hell was breaking loose in your head. Every day you're dealing with the worst things possible. But you're walking, talking, researching, doing everything you're supposed to. You beat Lucifer once and you'll do it again. He had the upper hand in Hell, but I'm here, I'm here now, Sammy, and together we can beat him. Okay?"

Sam nodded shakily, absorbing Dean's words. He cast a shy glance at Dean then looked at the ground. "You don't think I'm a coward, that I'm weak for… just letting Lucifer… do what he wants to me?" Lucifer stared at Sam obscenely and Sam couldn't bear his gaze.

Dean shook his head vehemently. "No way. He said you fought for a year. That's way longer than I coulda held out. Sam, you willingly jumped into Hell. It takes a crazy amount of courage to do something like that!"

"He's right about the crazy part…" Lucifer commented.

"I did it because I had to, because of what was at stake. There's nothing like that now," Sam lamented.

"Well, if staying alive for yourself and for me isn't enough, what about the Leviathans? We gotta clean that mess up and we don't even know what the hell they are or how to stop them! It'd be really helpful to have my nerd brother to help research these freaks!"

"Freak," Lucifer echoed as he shone an obnoxiously bright spotlight on Sam. He shied away from both the light and the repeated utterances of one of his most feared words. He'd never really recovered from when Dean had called him a 'blood-sucking freak.' He wasn't sure he ever would.

"Right, Sammy? You and me against the monsters?" Dean plied gently. _Because I sure as hell can't do this alone, Sam._

" _Monster."_ The spotlight was on him again and pointed directly into Sam's eyes. He winced. "It's what you are, Sam."

Sam swallowed, blinking away the light, and nodded his head in agreement. "Right. Leviathan. Gotta stop 'em."

"Yes, we do. And what's the first thing we do on a new case?"

"Drink and argue?" Lucifer offered helpfully.

"Research," Sam replied firmly. "Need to know what we're up against."

Dean clapped Sam's shoulder and smiled. "Good. Now, to help you with that, can I get you some grub? How's breakfast for linner sound? I can make you a girly veggie omelet or you can live a little and have some eggs and bacon."

Sam smiled a bit. "Sure, eggs and bacon sounds great."

"Coming right up!" Dean announced as he rose and hobbled to the kitchen.

* * *

Sam watched Dean cook from the bed, unwilling to move and face the world quite yet. Though he had slept for a few hours relatively uninterrupted, he was still tired. Lucifer was relentlessly taunting him about the dream walking. "I knew that was a bad idea. Dean is gonna dump your sorry ass the moment he can. Only reason he's still here is because he can't drive. He's gonna leave you faster than—" Sam focused on the sizzle of the pan and Dean's words from earlier and Lucifer faded out of view. Sam's shoulders relaxed slightly.

A minute later, he was back. "The only reason he was saying all those nice things is so he wouldn't have to clean up your brains in case you decided to off yourself. Though, I still think that's a good plan… I mean, you're _such_ a burden to him, Sammy. I know you saw his hand earlier. Busted up his knuckles cuz he feels trapped here with you. Why don't you make it easier on him and come back to me? You _did_ say you were used to it… Don't know if I should be touched or if I need to up my game." Sam felt the tip of a blade caress behind his ear. "Speaking of which, I have this new idea to slice open your eardrum and—" Sam's breathing hitched and he gave his palm a squeeze to dissolve his torturer.

He grabbed a change of clothes and a towel, which he realized Dean had laid out for him, and headed to the bathroom. Lucifer was sitting on the closed toilet with his feet propped up on the sink, his fingers gently tracing over the edge of a rusty knife. Sam stopped short of his hallucination, forcing himself to remember he was just that: not real. For some reason it bothered Sam to move through the space Lucifer was supposedly occupying. After the Leviathan encounter, Lucifer no longer had a physical presence, but it still felt wrong and he couldn't identify why. He tried, and failed, to will Lucifer away from the tiny room.

Lucifer rose and crossed the small area to stand behind Sam, who was brushing his teeth in the mirror. Lucifer rested his head on the crook of Sam's neck, his eyes meeting Sam's in the reflection. "Don't you miss the cage, Sam? You didn't have to eat, sleep, or relieve yourself. No human inconveniences, just 24/7 torture. No distractions, no disruptions, just pure bliss." He jammed the blade into the exact spot where Jake had severed his spinal cord all those years ago and Sam struggled to suppress a shout. He massaged the broken tissue of his palm fiercely and Lucifer dissipated. He hoped he could use the bathroom in peace. He certainly didn't need Lucifer narrating his every action.

He had just stepped into the shower when Lucifer returned, his head peeking through the shower curtain. "Would you stop doing that? It's pointless, Sam. You have to know that. You'll never get rid of me. Dean, on the other hand, man, he wants to get away from you so bad. He thinks you're revolting. He's disappointed in you. Thinks you're weak. You let the devil… no, you _begged_ the devil to have his way with you — over and over and over. Man, you shoulda seen the look of disdain on his face when your mouth was around my—"

Sam turned the water up as hot as he could take it and relished the flash of pain that drowned out Lucifer. He hadn't been lying to Dean when he said he was pretty much used to it, but he still wanted to avoid thinking about it whenever he could. Those mental wounds were frighteningly fresh and he did his best to suppress them. Not that Lucifer ever let him forget…

"Because you're my bitch, in every sense of the word. How many times do we have to go over this? I mean really, like last night wasn't evidence enough? You were so good at being my little—"

"Sam! Food's ready!" Dean bellowed as he banged on the door, mercifully cutting off Lucifer. Sam practically threw himself out of the shower, dressed in a blur and flung himself at the table. Dean noticed Sam's heaving chest but chose to ignore it, hoping to distract Sam. Dean had taken extra care to prepare everything exactly the way Sam liked it: squishy bacon, cheese in his eggs, and no pepper.

Sam dug into the food immediately, though whether because he was hungry or wanted something to focus on, Dean couldn't tell. A smile spread on Sam's face as he bit into the eggs, appreciating Dean's attention to detail. He practically inhaled the food and rose to get more. Dean waved him down and took his plate. He insisted on waiting on Sam despite the discomfort the broken leg was clearly causing him.

Leaning back in his chair, he let out a belch and sighed in satisfaction. "Thanks, Dean, this was really good."

"Ah, don't mention it. Just glad to see you eating some protein!" he teased, smiling at Sam's bitch face. Relief crept up in him. It had been too long since he'd seen it. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Dean offered as he collected Sam's plate.

A heavy sigh answered him. "Dean, look, I really appreciate everything you're doing, I do. But I don't need you to baby me. That wasn't my first rodeo. I—"

The relief cannibalized itself and turned to irritation. He slammed the plate down on the counter. "Then what was the point of showing me all of that shit?!" If the whole terrible exercise was for nothing, Dean was gonna tear Sam a new one.

Sam clenched his eyes closed and gripped the seat of the chair. "I needed you to know, Dean. Needed you to see it, to understand that knowing what's real isn't so easy. I can do this, but I can't do it alone. I don't need you to treat me like I'm freaking combustible, just help me out when it gets bad. I don't feel like that's too much to ask."

"Especially because it's all his fault," Lucifer added.

Dean considered that for a moment then nodded. "Okay, I get you. But you gotta be upfront with me when it's bad."

"I usually am," Sam replied defensively.

"That is a damn lie, and you know it."

Sam's teeth toyed with his bottom lip as he decided what to say. He knew it would worry Dean if he admitted it was bad all the time. Well, it actually wasn't, but it was bad enough. Anything else wasn't close to the truth. "He's almost always there, Dean. Sometimes he's sitting on the couch, doing nothing. Sometimes just chatting away. Sometimes doing more… disruptive things." Lucifer merely smiled at Sam's description from across the table.

"Does squeezing your cut stop the worst of it?" Dean asked carefully.

"Most of the time, but I have to remember to do it." Dean's eyes narrowed as he tried to understand what Sam _wasn't_ saying. Sam expelled a tense breath through his lips. "Sometimes I forget I'm not in Hell…"

"Whenever you're in doubt, just ask me. I get it now, Sam, I really do. When I woke up from the dream, I thought it was real. But it was a dream within a dream. I see how tricky it can be. So use me as a resource, okay?"

"Okay, I will, I promise," Sam pledged even as he questioned his commitment to the vow he had made.

Dean either didn't notice or didn't comment. "Good. I'm right here whenever you need me."

Sam gave a mock salute then rose from the table, ending the conversation. He collected the plates and brought them to the sink, intent on washing them as a 'thank you' for Dean's effort. He turned the tap on and rancid liquid spurted from the faucet, rotting chunks of meat dribbling down the dishes. He bit his lip and the water ran clear. He sighed and set his concentration, determined to get through a single chore without incident.

* * *

Sam collapsed on the couch next to Dean, clearly exhausted by what should have been a simple task. Focusing on keeping Lucifer out somehow made him more susceptible. Between ignoring the sensation that his flesh was being worn away by the sponge, dispelling the terrible smells and textures, shutting out Lucifer's hateful ramblings, and fantasizing about cutting himself with a steak knife, he felt immensely drained.

"You alright, man?" Dean asked gently, trying not to be intrusive.

Sam gulped and shot him a nervous glance. "Yeah. Just, uh, that was harder than I thought it was gonna be."

"That's what she said!" Lucifer shouted out. Sam couldn't help his instinctive glance towards the loud noise. Lucifer grinned boyishly. Sam looked back to his brother, silently pleading for release.

Dean held back a sigh and instead clapped Sam's shoulder. "But you did it. You got through it. Want something else to keep you busy?"

Sam nodded weakly.

Dean leaned forward and picked up a book from the coffee table. "Then this might interest you. 'Intercelestial Realms and Their Inhabitants.' Even has a glossary." Dean wiggled it like an enticing treat.

Sam smiled and reached for it. Dean snatched it back. "Only if you make extra good notes so I don't have to read it, too."

Sam rolled his eyes. "When don't I? I'm your walking Cliff Notes…"

"Exactly." Dean grinned and held it out. Sam grabbed it and settled down in a chair, trying to make himself comfortable despite the nails jabbing out of the musty fabric.

Sam wasn't even past the forward when he began to smell the undeniable stench of sulfur. He sighed. "Either you have really bad gas, a demon snuck in, or Lucifer is messing with me."

Dean's faint smile at the beginning of the sentence turned to a frown by the end. "I'm not smelling anything, so, uh, money's probably on the devil."

Sam's face twitched in irritation. "Okay. Well, in any case, I think I'm gonna go read outside," Sam announced as he snapped the book shut and rose swiftly from the chair.

Dean was about to grunt in reply when he remembered he hadn't cleaned up the bottes. He didn't want Sam to see them, to see his weakness. "Sam, wait up. It's cold out, you should wear a jacket," he called out, struggling to his feet.

Sam scoffed and quirked an eyebrow at Dean, his hand on the doorknob. "Uh, okay, mom. If I'm chilly, I'll come back inside."

"No, here, take a blanket at least," Dean jerked his head towards the bed but got closer to the door.

"Dean, I said I don't need you to baby me."

"I'm not babying you, I just…" he trailed off, unsure what he could say that wouldn't raise Sam's suspicion. But by the way Sam's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, he could tell Sam knew something was wrong.

Moving faster than Dean could to stop him, he pulled open the door and stepped out onto the porch. The bright afternoon sun reflected off an assortment of bottles strewn around the steps. At least half a dozen beer bottles, several beer cans, and another bottle of whiskey told the story, in no uncertain terms, of Dean's rough night. Guilt surged over Sam and he turned to face Dean, who had stopped in the doorway and leaned against the doorframe, his head down in shame.

"Dean—"

"I didn't want you to see this, Sammy."

"Is this — is this because of being in my head?"

"Told you he couldn't handle it, fucking pansy. I wasn't even _that_ mean to you!" Lucifer whined, crossing his arms as he leaned against the outside wall such that his and Dean's heads were almost touching. Sam couldn't look at one without seeing the other.

Dean was silent a few moments, measuring his words. "I—" he started, but his tongue felt like lead. "Sam, I can't even imagine, and I saw it. Last night, I just… I couldn't handle it. Knowing that all of this was my fault—"

"How the hell was this your fault?" Sam interrupted.

Dean lifted his head a bit but still didn't meet Sam's eyes. "I put your soul back."

"You _rescued_ my soul from the cage."

"Which I let you jump into."

Lucifer was watching the exchange like a ping pong match with a sick smile on his face. He scratched a line into the glass under a column labeled 'Dean.' Sam twitched at the unnerving sound.

"I had to trap Lucifer because I let him out." Lucifer etched a line under 'Sam.'

"Because I broke the first seal."

"Another point to Dean!" Lucifer chirped.

"Yeah, but everyone would break down eventually and you were only there because of a demon deal to bring me back from the dead." Sam didn't understand why they were having this discussion. Again.

"Wait, would that be my point?" Lucifer asked.

"You wouldn't have died if I had been there to protect you."

Sam let his irritation nip at his words, part of him hoping it would chase away Dean's guilt, part of him annoyed that this was what Dean thought. "Dean, this isn't your fault. All of this was set in motion way before we were ever born. The angels told us that. Remember that cupid? Our parents were brought together by divine order. There isn't anything you or I could do to change that." Lucifer pouted his lips and nodded his head, mocking Sam.

"Game, set, match," Lucifer shouted and X'd out both Sam's and Dean's names. Between the derisive comments and the awful sound of nail on glass, Sam's frustration skyrocketed.

Dean, of course, was entirely unaware. His shoulders wilted slightly. "Just feel like I could have done something differently. And then we wouldn't be in this mess."

Sam's nostrils flared. This mess? Is that what Sam's life was? "Well I'm sorry that _this mess_ is your brother," he threw out, contempt raining daggers on both Dean and the devil.

"No, Sam, I— the things he's done to you… You're so broken… I know you're trying to deal but I'm worried it's not gonna get better and I don't know what to do to…"

Dean kept talking but Sam wasn't listening. Anger swept over him and he couldn't stop himself. He stomped up the steps to take advantage of his height so that now he was looking down at Dean. "I'm so broken? What exactly did you expect? That I would come out from 180 years in Hell, in the cage, _with Lucifer,_ all fuzzy and warm? That I'd be cool, calm, and collected? Death told you the wall was a liability! It was coming down even before Cas smashed it. You knew this could happen!" He jabbed an angry finger at the four eyes watching his every move. "I don't regret you putting my soul back, but _don't you dare_ judge me for not dealing with it the way you do, just bottling it up and drowning it in alcohol!" He motioned to the pile of evidence to prove his point.

Dean was silent, too surprised by his outburst to reply quickly. "S-Sam, I never judged you for—"

"Really?" Sam doubted. "Because I remember when I first told you about seeing Lucifer and you were pretty pissed at me. Made me feel like an idiot for not knowing what was real."

"Cuz I didn't understand it, man. And I was — I was scared," he admitted quietly. "I didn't know what was happening to you. I still barely do."

"Guess he drank away everything that happened last night." Lucifer postulated. "Guess we'll just have to do it again! Maybe this time I can try the sea urchin ball gag!" he suggested hopefully. "Or do you want the blindfold made from Jess's oh-so-soft skin, instead? Seems a shame not to use it more. Was tough to find bits of her that weren't burnt to a crisp."

Dean watched Sam's glance flick away from him and his hands start to shake a bit as he paled. "Sam, I'm right here," he called out as if Sam were a thousand feet away. "Whatever's happening, it's not real." He reached out for Sam but his brother was backing away, not even seeing him.

"Maybe not," Lucifer shrugged, and pushed himself off the wall and began circling Sam slowly. "But it _was_ real, so what's the difference if it's happening then or now? I know you remember it, I know you still see it, I know you still _feel_ it." Lucifer's voice was impossible to drown out. "Added bonus, Dean knows, too! You really should be careful who you share with Sammy… You might just break big brother. If you really cared about him, you'd free him from the burden that is your existence." His fury draining away as he looked back to Dean and saw the fear on his face. Fear Sam had caused. "Sammy," Lucifer whispered. Sam felt he had to get away. Anger, terror, pain, love, hate, it was all too mixed up for him right now. He turned and ran off the porch.

"Where are you going?" Dean called, his anxiety spiking.

"I need some air. Gonna go for a walk," Sam shouted back, even as he broke into a full sprint.

"But I can't come with you," Dean complained, worried.

"I know." Sam replied in such a way that Dean understood that's exactly why Sam was doing this. He watched as Sam shrunk away from him, his apprehension rising with every step he took. Dean stood and stared until his little brother was out of sight.

* * *

Dean angrily threw his crutches down as he turned and dropped himself into the armchair where he'd started the morning. He knew his anger was actually masking his concern, but it was better to feel angry than feel helpless. "Why you gotta be such a brat, Sam," Dean huffed angrily. "I didn't even say anything… No reason for you to march off like a four year old."

 _That's not quite true,_ his conscience chastised him. _You called him a mess. Said he was broken._

Dean's anger dissolved and he hung his head in shame. With everything Sam was going through, that probably wasn't what he wanted, or needed, to hear. Regardless of whether it was true, the last thing Sam needed to feel was hopeless. Then he might do something stupid. Panic trickled into him. _He wouldn't, would he?_ Dean pondered it a moment then decided with a shake of his head that he wouldn't. And then wasn't so sure. Sam could very well hurt himself in his current condition. He wrestled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam. He didn't expect an answer and was not surprised to hear it ring out. He debated calling Bobby, even had his finger on the speed dial button, until he realized he'd have to explain to Bobby all that had happened to prompt his borderline-crazy brother to run away into the woods. He swallowed his shame and buried his face in his hands. All he had ever wanted was for Sam to be okay. Where had he gone wrong?

* * *

Sam sped away from the house, pushing his body until his lungs burned. Lucifer jogged lazily beside him, silent, as his mere presence was enough to upset Sam in his precarious state. He ran off the driveway, off the little path, just ran until he was sure the cabin was well out of view. His phone rang and he ignore it, knowing he wouldn't be able to speak through the deluge of thoughts tearing at his mind. His brokenness. Dean. The cage. Castiel. The apocalypse. But he pushed them all away, focusing solely on bringing enough oxygen into his body. Even Lucifer had disappeared for a bit. Right up until Sam tripped over a root and landed face down in a pile of slippery organs. His palm burned as mushy coldness seeped through his bandage. He gagged as he spit some slimy bits out of his mouth and wiped the fluids from his face before he opened his eyes. And instantly regretted doing so. What had once been trees — they had been trees, right? Right? God, he couldn't remember! — were bodies and strips of flesh and red dripping and _Agh!_ He sunk his palms into his eyes and willed the forest to return. Distant thunder rolled through him and he snapped his eyes open.

The light hitting his retinas had a red tinge and the air had that certain sickly chemical smell. Sam knew he was back in the cage. _No, he was out! Right?_ Lucifer laughed and Sam couldn't be sure. He looked up from his spot on his hands and knees and Lucifer loomed over him. The dread made him forgot how to check if this was real.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, let's play a game. Hide and seek, yes? You were enjoying running earlier. I thought you'd want to run some more! Hey, if you win, you're not in Hell. I win, well, you know what happens when I win…" He grinned toothily and it was enough to drive Sam to his feet. Lucifer crossed his arms and his lips twisted with amusement. "I'll even be nice and give you a head start. Run along now, Sammy," Lucifer purred, his hand scooting Sam away.

Sam turned and ran, ran faster than he had from Dean, ran faster than from anything in his life. Memories of Lucifer's games vied for attention in his fractured mind. So many goddam games. All of them ended with Sam begging for mercy. Lucifer won every time.

* * *

Dropping the book he had been pretending to read, Dean checked his watch. Sam had been gone for half an hour. He wondered how long Sam would need. Dean wanted to be angry at Sam for him stomping off the way he did, but he couldn't find it in himself to be mad. The kid really was dealing the best he could. The dreamwalking had shown Dean in vivid, technicolor detail that Sam's life was 50% pain, 35% terror, 10% confusion, and 5% actually being alive. He couldn't blame Sam for having trouble sorting through the 95% of death and destruction to find the 5% that made sense. Hell, for Sam, death and destruction probably made more sense than anything else. Dean sighed. He'd have to apologize to Sam when he got back. He was careful to suppress the nagging voice that whispered ' _if_.'

* * *

"Saaaaammmmmyyyyyy," a familiar voice called mockingly, and for once, it wasn't Lucifer's. Worse, it was Dean's. "Aren't you tired of running? Been runnin' all your life, from what a freak you are, from what a failure you are, from what a loser you are… Just come to me and I'll make it allllllllll better."

Sam hid behind a large tree, the disconcerting sensation of wet moss making his hands frantic. He needed to get out of here, get somewhere safe. Safe, who was he kidding? There were no safe places in Hell. Because he was in Hell, right?

"Sam. We both know this will be better if you just come out. I won't even make you sit in time out and clean all our guns like Dad did. I'd much rather use you for target practice anyway…" The voice was getting closer but he couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from.

Sam darted out then felt a searing pain in his ribcage the same moment the gunshot reached his ears. "Bullseye!" Dean shouted joyously. Sam stumbled then felt something sharp pierce his skin and swipe his legs out from under him. Hot air stinking of sulfur and rancid meat stung his senses.

Dean was soon standing over him, a smug grin on his face. "Broken, Sam, you are so broken. You're not even worth the hunt. Almost nicer to put you down like a diseased animal," Dean said, his mouth curving in that way the actual Dean's mouth never did, but Lucifer's Dean did all the time. "And Jess here," he patted the air next to him, "is gonna rip you apart so you can never be put back together again. Go get 'im, girl."

Sam saw the steam rise as the hellhound opened her mouth and lunged forward. He heard his shin bone crunch in her jaw and she pulled away, stripping the muscle from his right leg. The bone gleamed white and bloody. He screamed and Dean just laughed. "I want a review of my new hellhound training routine, Sammy. Got some ideas from when I was dragged down to Hell for your sorry ass. You better keep notes!" Burning claws sunk into his abdomen and mercilessly tore him open like a little kid too eager with his Christmas present. He tried to cry out but his throat collapsed in on itself. Fetid moisture covered his face as she licked him. Acid chewed into his skin and oozed into his blood. Then she picked him up, her canines jamming their way through his ribs and piercing his lungs, and _shook_ him like a rag doll. He tried to grab for her face, poke her in the eyes, something, anything to free him from this torment, but his exertion earned him nothing, save for more vigorous shaking. After several minutes. she tired of this approach and flung Sam into a tree.

Dean, _no, it wasn't really Dean! Right?_ Dean grabbed his wrists and the hound bit around his left knee. Looking down at Sam, he just smiled as he happily announced "tug o' war!" The dog growled as she pulled, her voice reminiscent of a train's brakes failing to screech to a halt as it crunched over a body. Sam felt himself stretching, muscle fibers giving in to the tension one by one, then in bunches. He heard a sickening _pop_ and he realized his spine had been severed. The lower half of his body soon followed, tearing apart around where the hellhound had already ripped into him. Sam could only watch in misery as the hound, Jess, as Dean so kindly reminded him, chewed on his liver. Slowly, so much slower than Sam thought reasonable, consciousness ebbed from him and he fell into emptiness.

* * *

In the darkness of his mind, clarity reclaimed him and he was able to think back over his and Dean's argument. Fury tried to imprint itself but he knew it was only covering his denial. Dean wasn't wrong. Sam was broken. His imaginary fight with a hellhound was evidence enough of that. His grip on reality was tenuous at best and prone to frequent interruptions. His resentment towards Dean dwindled down to nothing and he felt guilty for snapping at his brother. This was stressful for Dean, too. But he disagreed with Dean on whether it would ever get better. He thought it would. He had to. He wouldn't survive this for too much longer.

* * *

A crack of thunder roused Sam from his unintentional slumber. A light rain had started and Sam knew he should get back. He had to apologize to Dean. Sliding around in the mud, it took him almost a minute to get to his feet. Once he did, he regretted it, as sharp pain made itself known in his calf. Looking down, he saw his right leg was tangled in a fierce looking thorn thicket. It had stabbed through his jeans and little halos of blood surrounded each puncture site. He carefully freed himself from vicious vine, earning himself some additional holes in his fingers. Hissing at the burn, he wiped the blood off on his jeans and took in his surroundings. Discomfort slithered around his guts as he realized he had no idea which way he had come. He looked up for the sun but couldn't see it due to the angry looking sky.

Lucifer appeared next to him, holding a compass. "Is this what you need? Hm, what do you think Sam, does this seem right to you?" He shoved it in Sam's face and the arrow pointed to 'Hell.' Sam looked away from him, trying to recognize anything familiar. "Better figure it out quickly. How long do you think it will take Dean-o to come looking for his stupid, lost little brother?" Concern flashed through Sam as he thought about Dean trying to navigate this swampy mess on crutches. He couldn't let that happen. He pulled his phone out, but it wouldn't turn out. _Probably waterlogged_ , he thought with a heavy sigh. Despite the pain and fatigue pulling at him, he urged himself onward. He picked a direction and prayed he'd hit a road eventually.

Periodically he stopped to rest, especially after he spent fifteen minutes freeing his boot from a particularly deep mud pit. At one point, he had the sensation he was sinking and was being swallowed up by the ground. Lucifer had darkly reminded him of when the earth had closed up above them in Stull Cemetery. The wind and the screams dragged him down. He frantically scrabbled at the slippery mud, desperate for a grip on something. Anything not to go back to the cage. He'd managed to grab a branch and pull himself out. He leaned against a tree as he gasped for air, then felt stupid as he realized that only his boot had been stuck. Lucifer teased him about it for the next ten minutes.

Faint lights glinted in the trees and Sam hoped against hope that it was from a passing car. He staggered towards the spot, ignoring the way his feet sunk into piles of human flesh ground like hamburger, vomit-decorated mud, or any other delightful concoction Lucifer devised to slow his travel. The rain escalated to a heavy downpour and he struggled even more to maintain his footing. At random, tentacles of earth would reach up and grab his limbs, dragging him down into the mire. He was slower to get up every time. He reached the road and he fell to his knees. For a second he fought the urge then gave in and kissed the road. He'd never been happier to see pavement. He just wanted to be back at the cabin. He'd stopped being able to tell if the cold was from the rain or Lucifer's caresses about twenty minutes ago. Thanking whatever lucky stars he had left, he recognized where he was. He hauled himself up the road towards his refuge, his nails sunken into his palm to keep the devil at bay.

* * *

Bobby was unloading groceries as Sam approached. He saw Sam and waited on the porch, bags in his arms. Sam picked up his pace despite his exhaustion.

"The hell you been?" he asked gruffly once Sam was about ten feet away. Judging by the frown on his face, Sam figured he'd already been inside and heard about their spat.

"I—I needed some space," Sam replied weakly.

"Boy, did you really just ditch your brother, your crippled brother, in this cabin while you went and threw a tantrum?" Bobby's tone was severe and Sam didn't dare meet his gaze. "What if something had happened while you were out moping? It's not like he can drive himself to the hospital. He coulda died all because you're too busy feeling sorry yourself!"

Sam ducked his head in shame. "He could have called me if anything went wrong…" he replied quietly but defensively, not willing to accept total blame but not wanting to incur Bobby's wrath.

"He can't call you if your phone's dead, ya idjit." _Oh, right…_ Sam remembered.

"Sorry, Bobby," Sam said, meaning it.

"I'm not the one you need to say sorry to! The brother you abandoned would sure like to hear it! The brother you shouted at when he was just trying to help you would like to hear it. You're not the only one suffering here, Sam. Stop being so damn selfish for once."

Sam shrunk into himself and wished he could disappear. But Bobby was right. He was being selfish. Dean had broken his leg. Bobby had lost his house.

"You stay out here and think about what you've done. Come back in when you're ready to apologize to your brother and grovel for his forgiveness." Bobby stepped inside and slammed the door shut and locked the door, leaving Sam outside on the porch, shivering and miserable. He slid down against the wall and didn't fight the tears that sprung from his tired eyes.

* * *

Dean checked his watch again. Sam had been gone for almost four hours. It was beginning to get dark out, and not just from the storm clouds. He understood the kid needed some time to think, but he could do that inside, out of the now pouring rain, and where Dean could keep an eye on him. He dialed Sam's number, ignoring the tension that arose in his jaw when it went straight to voicemail. Either he was yakking to Bobby or his phone was dead. He knew which one was more likely. He sighed and grabbed his crutches, preparing himself for an ill-advised search and rescue mission. He threw a few essentials into a back pack, shrugged on his heaviest coat and boots, then headed towards the door, knowing with every ounce of his being he was going to regret this. He swung the door open and stepped out, looking down to place his crutches securely. He had to do a double take when he heard whimpering.

His brother was huddled against the house, covered in mud and soaked to the bone. Small twigs and leaves were tangled in his hair. Dean almost would have found the wild child appearance comical if it weren't also breaking his heart. He was relieved Sam was back but also very concerned. Sam had his head to his knees and he was sobbing.

"Sam?" Dean asked quietly. When he didn't respond, Dean reached out tentatively and tapped Sam's elbow.

Sam recoiled and looked up. "Dean!" he gasped, surprised. He rose and looked into Dean's eyes earnestly. "I'm — I'm sorry I left like I did, I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry."

Dean took a step back, caught of guard by Sam's emotional outburst. He had expected him to be moody or sullen. "Dude, it's alright, I understand. Why the hell are you out here? You're soaked!"

"Bobby said I couldn't come in until I'd thought about what I'd done and how selfish I was."

"Bobby?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "He call you?"

Sam looked confused. "No… He's here… He's inside, right?" _Right?_

Dean shook his head and Sam let his eyes fall to the floor as he heard Lucifer laugh behind him. "Gotcha again, Sammy-boy!"

Sam clenched his eyes shut and wavered where he stood. Dean steadied him with an outstretched hand. He was disturbed by how cold Sam felt.

"Sam, we need to get you inside."

"Not until I apologize. I shouldn't have said those things and I shouldn't have left. I know this is hard on you, too. I need to be here for you."

Dean bit his lip. "I hear you, I do, and I appreciate it. I'm sorry, too. But that's not important. Inside, now."

"Okay," Sam acquiesced, and Dean felt like Sam was a little kid again, coming in from playing outside. He was definitely as dirty…

"Why are you covered in mud?" Dean queried as they moved inside. Deep red shone on his thighs. "Is that blood? Are you bleeding?" _Oh God, did he actually do something stupid?_

Sam waved away his attention. "Got stuck in a thorn bush."

Dean wasn't convinced. "How'd that happen?"

Sam looked at him shyly, pretending to focus on shucking off his filthy clothes. "Was running…" he answered quietly.

"From something?" Dean guessed.

Sam turned away and mumbled a response.

"Come again?"

"Hellhound," Sam said. He paused then continued, "wasn't real obviously, but, uh, took me a bit to realize that… I ran and then I got lost." He heard Dean's sigh and he felt ashamed. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Sam, you've got nothing to be sorry for. You've gone a couple million rounds with the devil and you're still fighting. It's more than I could have asked for, especially now that I understand how bad it is." Sam turned back around and looked up at Dean. He opened his mouth but Dean cut him off. "We'll finish this later. You look terrible. Go take a shower," he gently ordered and Sam silently complied.

Looking in the mirror, Sam carefully pulled the sticks from his hair, ignoring Lucifer's narration of Sam's struggle. Sam brought his leg up to the sink to assess the thorn-induced damage. One still remained lodged in his skin. He pressed in and was rewarded with a Lucifer-free shower for his minor suffering. He flicked the thorn into the trash after his shower. No sooner had the offending object hit the bottom, Lucifer appeared, tut-tutting Sam.

Sam quickly pulled on his clothes and escaped the confined space. Lucifer followed him out of the bathroom, blowing cool air on his bare neck in between various taunts. "I'm still eager to use the Jess skin blindfold tonight, Sam." "Maybe you'd like some lye tattoos instead? I am quite the artiste…" "No, I got it. Let's watch mommy burning in slow-mo!"

"Sam, do you want anything to eat?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam said tightly and strode to the bed purposefully. He tucked himself in into bed, desperate to sleep even though he knew rest would elude him. Despite the warm shower and warm blankets, Sam was still shivering. He knew it had nothing to do with the temperature.

"C'mon, Sam, I know you can hear me. Now whether you want to or not, we're gonna play a little game. It's called 'Sammy has to play nice if he wants to wake up.' Well, I probably should work on the name. Either way, rules are the same. You have to do what I say if you wanna wake up and see big brother again." He sidled up to Sam, who clenched his eyes shut as he felt Lucifer's hands clasp around his neck.

"Ready?" He carefully pressed each finger against Sam's throat.

"Set." He clenched down hard and Sam gasped for air. Lucifer's laugh was the only thing Sam could hold on to as he spiraled down into oblivion.

"Go!"


	13. Day 11

I'm so sorry I haven't posted anything for this in such a long time. I just had nothing to offer this story even when I tried to force it. I'm not totally content with this chapter, but I think I need to move on and get to the parts I am interested in writing. This chapter is kind of weird; part of it is based off a nightmare I had. And for anyone reading 'A Prison of One's Own Making', the idea for that story came out of the first part of this chapter with Sam and very much delayed progress on this fic!

Please review and suggest anything you'd like to see happen. I could use the prompts and inspiration right now!

* * *

.

* * *

 **Day 11**

Dean stared at the roof of the cabin, listening to the pouring rain and pondering his next move. It was almost 5 in the morning. He hadn't been able to fall asleep after he'd found Sam sobbing like a child outside. The slide back to the terrified kid he'd practically raised filled him with dread. The confusion on Sam's face, the plea in his eyes, the desperate need for Dean to make it all better… He tried to push away the thought stalking him but ultimately succumbed to its lumbering attack: If it didn't get better, if they couldn't fix him, was this it for Sam? Is this what Sam would become? Would he break under the weight of his — Dean's brain shied away from the word "insanity" — Hell vision and regress to a toddler?

Perversely, Dean thought that might not be such a bad thing. Sure, Dean would lose his brother as he knew him and his hunting partner, but the idea of Sam being tortured by an imaginary Lucifer who undermined Sam's sense of reality for the rest of his life? It was unacceptable. He'd rather Sam be dead. His panicked voicemail to Bobby that goddam night ran through his mind. _"You_ cannot _be in that crater back there. I can't – If you're gone, I swear I am going to strap my 'Beautiful Mind' brother into the car, and I'm gonna drive us off the pier. You asked me how I was doing? Well, not good. Now you said you'd be here. Where are you?"_

Bobby hadn't brought it up and Dean was immensely grateful for that. Whether it was because Bobby hadn't gotten the message or because Bobby didn't want to discuss it, he wasn't sure. Dean hoped they never spoke of it again; it was evidence of his complete and utter resignation. Without Bobby, he was willing to kill himself and Sam. Dean rubbed his hands over his face as he shuddered, trying to disperse both the shame he felt at admitting such a thing and the unsettling feeling that there was nothing wrong with his impulsive plan.

Dean flinched as lightning struck a tree nearby. The blinding flash and the deafening roar of thunder assaulted his senses. He heard a strangled cry and lifted himself to look over the couch. After his shower, Sam had fallen into a deep sleep almost immediately, but every flash of lightning and the accompanying crack of thunder elicited a violent jerk from Sam. Still he slept.

Dean sighed. His heart just felt so tired. He wasn't sure he could keep the pieces of his brother together much longer. He knew sleep was a nightly return to torture for Sam, but he didn't know what he could do at the moment. The kid needed to sleep. He reminded himself to call Bobby and ask for anything that could help. Even if it didn't work for Sam, fuck, maybe it would work for him. His drunken sleep had not been restful, punctuated by remembered screams and images that made him regret existing. He tried to drown the sorrows threatening to bury him but they were learning to swim. He leaned forward and took another swig of whiskey. It was the only thing that dulled the violent dance of memories blazing inside his head. He could barely look at Sam without seeing his eyes missing or blood pouring from… _everywhere_ , or Sam being ra— Dean shut his eyes and bit his tongue as hard as he could, welcoming the warm burst of copper.

He grabbed his crutches and made his was slowly to the door. Awkwardly swinging it open, a fierce breeze greeted him, carrying with it the distinct scent of a thunderstorm. He breathed in deeply and let the tension out of his body. He took a few steps forward and closed the door. He went to the edge of the porch, silently pleading for the rain to wash away his pain.

* * *

 _Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

Sam blinked awake to complete darkness and instantly regretted his return to consciousness. Something freezing was splashing on his forehead and oozing down his face.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

He couldn't remember the last thing he had been doing. Everything seemed hidden behind a hazy fog. He tried to move his head but his muscles felt like stone. His rigid limbs similarly failed to respond. Realizing struggling was useless, he relaxed his body and scanned his senses for clues. Darkness. No sound but the constant _drip_. He felt like he was on something soft with smooth fabric… A bed? He concentrated and became aware of fine silk against his skin. _All his skin._ Where the hell were his clothes?! Suppressing the thought in search of more information, he scanned his remaining senses. Subconsciously he surveyed the area with his psychic abilities but they had long been dormant. He sniffed the air and detected an oddly familiar mix of women's perfume and telltale scent of blood. Was he injured? He couldn't detect any pain… And then the _taste_ registered in his waking mind. The metallic tang of blood. _Demon blood._ He willed his muscles to break free of their restraint as panic spiked his psyche.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

He felt the drops trickle down his face in tiny rivulets, some making their leisurely way into his open mouth.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

Despite himself, despite his mental protests, the tainted fluid continued to slip between his cracked lips and seep into his body. Despite himself, the part of himself he thought he had locked away welcomed the slowly increasing thrum of power that pulsed through his veins. Despite himself, he felt energized by the return of psychic fluency. His mind warred with itself, fighting to reject what he despised yet begging for the release of his gift. He knew it was evil, it was what made him unclean, inhuman, abhorrent. But at the same time, if he used it for good, to kill demons, wasn't that a worthy sacrifice? _As if you're doing it for the good of others,_ a voice whispered. _You know why you're doing this, because you feel strong. Pushed around your whole life by your dad, by Dean, by demons, by the devil. No one's going to push you around once you blossom into the psychic juggernaut you were born to be. You just need more practice…_

Another voice slashed through the seductive allure of that train of thought. _No, you know this is wrong. A demon poisoned you for you to have these abilities. How can that be anything but bad? What would Dean think? He'd be so disappointed in you! To know that you gave in again. Do you really want to surrender yourself to the evil festering inside you?_

 _It's not like you asked for this,_ the other side countered. _You're making the best of a hopeless, fucked up situation. I think that's admirable._

 _Don't do this. It will only end in sorrow and pain._

 _Because the rest of your life has totally been rainbows and fluffy kittens._

Distracted by his internal struggle, he didn't notice the drip had stopped. His first thought was a pained _No!_ , followed very quickly by a surge of relief.

A laugh, not the one he was expecting to hear ( _who was he expecting?_ ), a feminine laugh sliced through the stillness of the room. A warm body, devoid of much clothing, straddled his. The lace of soft panties tickled his skin and it confused him. A hand trailed up his thigh before jumping up to his chest.

"What, Sam, you don't wanna? C'mon, I even juiced you up…"

"Ruby?" Sam gasped.

"Duh, who else would it be?" She leaned forward and placed her lips on his, her tongue slipping into his mouth and running along his clenched teeth. "Sam, don't pout," she whined.

His brow creased. "I – I'm not pouting!"

"Then what's your problem?" She couldn't keep the irritation from the question.

"I, I just, something's not right… And why the hell am I tied up?"

"I thought it might be a nice change of pace." He could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Untie me," Sam ordered, even though he knew he was completely powerless.

Ruby ground her hips seductively against his. "Where would be the fun in that?" she chided. "I got you right where I want. Now, you can either cooperate, or this could get ugly for you." Suddenly the weight grew heavier and a roughish hand grabbed his chin. "And you know it's never very pretty to begin with…" that familiar voice crooned.

His breath fled his body and starved his brain of the oxygen he so desperately needed to process the situation. Pinned under Lucifer and completely exposed, he felt shamefully vulnerable He felt… he felt like a–

 _"Victim, Sam, you're a victim."_

"Why?" Sam croaked out, though he wasn't sure of his intended target.

Familiar with every iteration of this conversation, Lucifer didn't need to ask for clarification. "Maybe sometimes I want us both to enjoy ourselves. At least for a little bit. Once upon a time you really trusted her, you know. Oh, you played right into the palm of her hand," he mused. "C'mon, Sammy, indulge me, just this once." As if Sam ever had a choice in the matter. "I won't even use the gag this time," Ruby's voice chimed sweetly.

Ruby leaned down to kiss him but Sam turned his head away.

"Fine, you don't wanna? Then let's play the game. Either you continue to drain this sweet little high school student," they both looked up and gentle light illuminated the young dark-haired girl with beautiful braids pinned to the ceiling of their room, blood dripping out of her abdomen. Terror seized Sam and he writhed against his bonds, desperate not to relive that torture again. "Or you can try your hand at detoxing and hope you survive. You won't have an angel to help you through this time."

Castiel had helped him survive the detox process after he succumbed to Famine's draw. It had been touch and go for a while, but he'd made it through. He wasn't sure he even cared about surviving now. "And if I do nothing?" Sam weakly challenged.

Ruby's image shimmered and Lucifer took her place, the light softening his face. Lucifer's lips curled into a very, _very_ familiar smile. "Now, why would you want to do something like that? You just like teasing me, don't you?" Lucifer cocked his head to the side. "You're just so sweet, Sammy." He rubbed his hands together, thinking. "Okay, how about this? If you don't decide in the next thirty seconds, we'll find out what Robo-Sam hopped up on demon blood would do."

The memories of his soullessness resurfaced and Sam paled. That wasn't a combination he had considered before. The thought made his stomach churn. "Y-you can't make that happen," Sam stated, hoping his denial was based in truth.

Lucifer scoffed. "You really think I just let Castiel take your body?" He rolled his eyes. "No way I was letting my bunk buddy off the hook that easily! Nah, I just carved your delicious little soul out of that exquisite body. Castiel got what he needed, I got what I wanted, it was a win-win! Well, for everyone except you, of course. And all the people you killed topside…" His smile was twisted as he put his hand on Sam's chest and wiggled his fingers against his bare skin.

The serious threat of getting his soul pulled out was incentive enough to decide. He would go to great lengths to avoid detoxing, but killing an innocent broke the cardinal rule of his moral code. He just couldn't do it. He just couldn't handle another death on his hands.

"Sam, after the millions you've already obliterated, what's one more?" Lucifer asked casually.

That decided it. He definitely couldn't do it. He wasn't sure he would survive the detox considering how juiced up he was, but he'd rather at least try to die a noble death.

"I won't let her die. I'd rather detox. But if I don't make it, please don't let Dean find me. Just let him go on thinking I'm missing or whatever…"

"Or whatever," Lucifer grinned, a malicious gleam in his eye. He snapped his fingers and the girl disappeared. He patted Sam on the cheek and vanished, leaving Sam strapped to a bed with only an eerie, sourceless ambient light for company.

Untold hours passed as hunger for both food and blood infiltrated. Beads of sweat formed on his face and minute tremors toyed with his nerves. It wasn't long before the shadows took on a life of their own and began taunting him. At first they just whispered hateful things into his ear. "Loser." "Weakling." "Idiot." "Murderer." "Diseased." Then they poked and pinched him, mocking his immobility.

Then the claws came out – literally. Hundreds of thin razors danced upon skin, crisscrossing his shivering body. They sliced off his eyelids and allowed blood to seep in and obscure his vision. Without sight, he felt even more at their mercy. The voices shifted into those he loved, people whom he'd betrayed by even existing. Jess snarled her hate for his role in her death. Mary joined her in pulling his nerves out one by one, setting each one alight with the flames that still licked up and down their bodies. John hissed his contempt, disgusted he allowed the charade of Sam as human, as good, as worthwhile, to go on for as long as he did. What a mistake that had been! At one point Sam heard Dean's disappointed sigh, then the door creak open and slam. He knew he wasn't worth Dean's time; he's not sure why he'd ever thought differently.

Even Lucifer showed up to excoriate him. The Lucifer that Sam had freed from Hell, the Lucifer that trusted him, that believed in him. "You deceived me, Sam. In the moment that really mattered, you were not loyal to me. Shall we revisit it?"

* * *

Punch after punch landed on his brother's face, blood escaping from new wounds each time. Lucifer's rage coiled around him, suffocating him, draining his will to fight. "Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you," Dean assured, even as Lucifer was pummeling the life out of him. Agony and guilt surging through the younger Winchester, he drew upon every moment of affection, heartache, fear, beauty, love – all the things Lucifer couldn't understand, and ignited the thorny bonds crushing his will. Light exploded outwards as the balance of power shifted and Sam once again controlled his body. He gasped for air, desperate to be alive, desperate to save Dean. He knew what he had to do. Returning Lucifer to the cage was the only thing that mattered now.

* * *

Dean pushed the door open and staggered in, his limbs aching from the discomfort of the crutches and from standing for so long. The early morning light streaming through the windows did not illuminate his brother. The beds and the couch were empty; the bathroom door was open.

"Sammy?" Dean called out.

No response. The fatigue in his arms and legs evaporated as panic began to simmer. He flicked on the lights and began checking any obscure places Sam could be hiding. The side entrance was locked, Dean would have noticed if he came out the front, the basement door was locked, the tarp covering the broken window was intact… _Where the hell could he be?!_

A barely audible gasp tipped him off. Looking away from the window and towards the sound, Dean realized it could only be coming from one place: under the bed. With a rather colorful barrage of curses, he managed to get himself down to the floor and on his stomach. He could see Sam's dark form pushed up against the wall. How someone so big could fit in a space so excruciatingly small would never cease to amaze him. Fishing his phone from his pocket, he turned on the light. Sam's arms were folded protectively across his chest and his legs were tight to his stomach. His open eyes stared back at Dean, his pupils blown to the point of almost eliminating the iris. Dean noted with dismay that they did not respond to the bright light. He doubted Sam would respond either, but he had to try.

"Sam?" he called gently, trying to coax Sam from his nightmare. "Sammy, c'mon, wake up. I know you can do it. Follow the sound of my voice."

Unexpectedly, Sam replied. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

"I know it is. We'll figure this out."

"It's gonna be okay," he repeated. "Dean, I got him."

Dean scrunched his face in confusion. Sam's pupils hadn't changed so he was probably still dreaming… "I know you do, Sam. You got me. Come back to me."

Sam shook his head slightly. "I can't. I won't be coming back, Dean. You know that. You knew that when we agreed to this."

"Agreed to what?"

"To the plan to save the world? You're supposed to go and be happy without your fuck-up of a little brother to weigh you down. You promised me, you promised! Please," his voice cracked, "I can't hold on much longer."

"You're not my fuck-up — Sam, c'mon, keep fighting, you can do it!" he cried, reflecting the urgency in Sam's voice even if he didn't understand what was happening.

Lines of pain and effort etched themselves on Sam's face. "I need you to promise, Dean!" he said firmly, clearly trying to hide the shake in his voice.

"I promise!" With that, Sam closed his eyes and his face became peaceful. All tension drained from his muscles and his head clunked unceremoniously to the floor. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say Sam was sleeping. But he did know better, and he knew Sam was likely just in the next part of his nightmare.

* * *

Dean laid on the floor a while, watching and waiting for something to happen. Sam began to murmur quietly, his voice a bit muffled. Dean watched as Sam's mouth hung open in between the incoherent noises, a small drop of drool starting to form. He smirked and turned on the phone camera, not one to miss an opportunity for blackmail. However, as he brought his finger towards the screen, he heard a phrase that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Bvtmon tabges babalon."

Some of the last words he thought he'd ever hear from Sam. Before Dean could even recognize what was happening, the scene flashed through his mind, fresh as the day it happened. Pain erupted over his face as Lucifer made his rage known. Sam standing before a gaping hole in the ground, the screeching howl of Hell beckoning him towards his eternal prison. The absolute despair he felt as the earth sealed itself shut, its growing maw now sated with the lives of a pair of brothers.

"Bvtmon tabges babalon," Sam mumbled again. Dean thought back to Sam's should-have-been last words and almost laughed. The three parts actually summed up his brother perfectly. _"It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him."_ Caring Sam, the man who would literally give his everything to make the world a better place. Sam comforting Dean, the little brother protecting the big brother. Sam looking out for Dean just as Dean had done his entire life. _"Bvtmon tabges babalon."_ The nerd, the intellectual, his goddam genius baby brother. _"You're gonna have to make me!"_ One final act of defiance, as if rebelling against Lucifer, the original renegade, wasn't enough for the sassy kid. He had to take on Michael, too…

He frowned and slid his phone back in his pocket, unwilling to humiliate Sam in such a moment of extreme vulnerability. He rolled out from under the bed and heaved himself up. His eye caught a bottle of whiskey and he considered it, knowing how easy it would be to drown his grief and remorse. But the sounds of Sam's soft whimpers drew him from temptation. He couldn't look out for his brother if he was plastered. After all Sam had been through, Dean could suffer a little longer.

He hobbled over to the couch and turned on the TV, idling flicking through the channels. There was nothing interesting on, but one of the señoritas on the Spanish soap opera sure was eye catching. He contented himself that and a bag of chips, one ear tuned to Sam incase his brother required rescue.

* * *

He let himself fall into the furious, gaping maw in the earth, relieved to be saving Dean from death through his sacrifice. He expected Lucifer to fight for control and was surprised when his memory was not recreated. Instead, he slammed into something solid after falling about thirty feet. A low grinding sound made him open his eyes and he scoured the small room for the source. It took him a few seconds to realize the sound was coming from the walls, as they moved slowly towards him. Salt-soaked iron walls. He was in Bobby's panic room. Where he had detoxed the previous two times… He shivered at the thought.

The panic room was getting smaller and smaller, the shifting contents of the room adding to the steadily growing cacophony. Sam stood on the cot, looking for any way to escape, but it was pointless. The smooth iron walls would close in on him and there was no way out. The room seemed to be sealed because the air pressure was starting to increase; he could feel blood trickling out of his nose. The cot started to buckle as the walls neared. Rivets popped out of the iron and the large desk pressed painfully into his legs. He knew it was probably futile but he put his hands on the walls to try to hold them back, only to immediately snap his arms back as his palms smoked and burned upon contact with the salted metal. Distracted by his confusion, he didn't even get to brace himself for the inevitable crush. The sound of splintering furniture accompanied his screams as numerous bones snapped to accommodate the invading walls. He felt blood flowing out of his body in increasing streams until it appeared to drag his very essence down with it too. Blood dribbled down through cracks in the floor, pooling in the near darkness.

His existence felt amorphous, as if in a dream. He was there but could not see his body. The space around him had that familiar, somewhat unnatural smell of old, damp basements that meant nothing but trouble in his experience. Willing himself to move through space, he searched for an exit. A soft scrabbling sound behind him made him freeze, but the sound stopped as soon as he did. Maybe he had imagined it? He continued moving, over time becoming convinced that something was down here with him. Something that was always in the corner of his eye but never to be found when he looked. His pulse (how could he even have a pulse if he didn't have a body?) quickened as he became certain the once barely audible scratches were getting louder. Faster, he had to go faster. Light ebbed and flowed from the cellar-like space, though the sources of light were merely bare bulbs swinging slightly in an unfelt breeze. He stopped to consider how that was possible when—

Oh God, something just touched him. Something hard yet flexible traced along his presence in an exploratory way and he bolted. Urging himself forward, he didn't care where he went as long it was away from whatever the hell that had been. He turned a corner and found a small room off to the side. Peering inside quickly to ensure it was empty, a hand snaked out from his nebulous body to close the door. He hoped the scuttling thing would pass him by.

In the darkness, he focused on calming himself. Was he in a dream? He couldn't remember. He couldn't take the risk. He had to get out and get back to Dean. He didn't want Dean to worry about him being gone too long… How long had it been since he'd seen his brother? He couldn't remember!

A sharp pinch sliced through the Achilles tendon on his left leg and he screamed as he lurched forward, bursting out the door. The unnerving sound was ominously close now and he couldn't escape. He lifted his head to see a grotesque-crab like creature, all shiny slick shell, giant claws, long, searching antenna, and black bile oozing from its mouth. It hissed angrily at him as it launched itself at his face, spraying acidic liquid that began to eat into his flesh. His cries of pain were delayed long enough that he could hear the scrabbling of a thousand other tiny feet coming his way. No, he was not going to die like this!

He ripped off the foul thing and pushed himself up, using a wall to support his useless leg. Looking around, he could tell only one eye functioned. It would have to be enough. He felt along the crumbling stone, praying for a way out. But before long, wispy antenna caressed the back of his legs and he could move no faster. Another pinch disabled him and he crashed to the floor. Stabbing feet began crawling over him and he batted away the vile creatures as best he could. One clamped a giant claw around his forearm and he struggled to remove it. Unable to beat back the surge, more and more lances of pain told him he was done for. He screamed and wept as a hundred hungry mouths tore pieces from his living body until the still embrace of death enveloped him.

* * *

He gasped awake and hit his head on the bedframe with his waking spasm. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten under the bed, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. His eyes darted around, searching for those awful little monsters. Instead he saw Dean, who was clearly agitated. Dean withdrew his hand, the hand that had been shaking him violently, and peered at his little brother with concern. Sam waved away Dean's concerned look and scooted out awkwardly. Unsure whether his legs would actually support him, he cautiously stood up then brushed all the dust bunnies and cobwebs off. Dean lifted himself up with a groan but quickly schooled his expression as he looked at Sam. His expression told Sam neither of them had gotten decent sleep. Sam knew he and his nightmares were to blame. Flashes of his ordeal surfaced and he blanched.

"You gonna be alright, Sam?"

Looking around the confines of the cabin, it suddenly felt too small. The walls were closing in on him, just like his nightmare. He looked backed to Dean and set his jaw. He stepped forward and held his brother by the shoulders. He tried to look him squarely in the eye, applying all his effort to keeping the waver out of his voice. "Dean, I just need a few minutes. I'll be okay. I'll be back. Don't worry." He softly squeezed Dean's shoulders and pushed gently to propel himself back. He made a subtle nod then turned to the door and calmly left. He picked up his pace as he strode down the steps, breaking into a jog as he reached the end of the driveway. Space, he needed space. He spotted a clearing in the distance and sprinted for it, desperately needing more than a few feet around him on all sides.

 _Room to spread your wings, huh?_ Lucifer murmured in his mind and Sam batted away the thought. He concentrated on breathing and made it to the small field without any further accompaniment. He stopped at the center and allowed himself to collapse to the ground so he could look up at the sky. Wispy cirrus clouds moved imperceptibly slowly, readily outpaced by the bustling cumulonimbus clouds threatening rain. He could still smell the previous night's downpour, feel the dampness soaking into his shirt, the slick blades of grass sliding beneath his fingertips, and he savored it.

They were all such unremarkable sensations, things he would not have even consciously considered before he went to Hell. In the beginning, he had missed obvious things: he missed Dean, he missed Cas and Bobby even though he knew they were dead, he missed the adrenaline of a hunt, he even missed that damn car. He soon began to yearn for more subtle things, like the feel of the sun on his face, the welcome scent of coffee arousing his tired brain, the feel of crisp pages slipping through his fingers, the cool kiss of his gun in his sweaty palm. Slowly, he started to forget what these things felt like. He couldn't remember the texture of a soapy dish sponge or why such a thing would even exist. He couldn't even remember at what point his knowledge of those things faded away; all he knew is that there came a time where the only thing he could remember was telokh, Lucifer, ds tabges,

His psyche wasn't fast enough to withdraw the words before they were readily supplied by his brain. Enochian words. He cringed and forcefully repeated the words in English: death, Lucifer, and the cage. He clenched his eyes closed and begged the earth to swallow him whole. He didn't want to even think about it. It was something he hadn't told Dean and wasn't sure he could ever admit to anyone… Sometimes his thoughts were in Enochian and sometimes he had to search for the word in English before he spoke. In the cage, he could understand Lucifer and Michael's bickering, his comprehension of the unruly phonetics bypassing his brain and coming directly from his invaded soul. Lucifer's possession had imbued him with an innate understanding of Enochian and it scared him. What else had Lucifer altered without his knowledge?

He tried to focus on the blue of the sky, the soft _phwoosh_ of rustling leaves, the pleasant sounds of life all around him. They were all things he had regretted not appreciating more before going to Hell. But now, topside, it was all different. Now, it was almost overstimulating. The wetness, the grass, the gentle breeze through the trees, the birds tweeting, and the crickets chirping. Sun caressed his face and he felt the warmth permeate the ice encasing his soul. But there was a shard implanted deep within him and he wasn't sure it would ever thaw. He thought perhaps it was Lucifer's grace, but even entertaining that thought slashed dangerously at his sanity. If he really had brought back a piece of Lucifer with him, then his torment would never end…

 _No, I'm getting better,_ he told himself firmly. And he was. It wasn't so bad when he was awake, he was learning to manage it. But sleeping… He swallowed the terror scratching at this throat. He just had to keep going. It would be okay, eventually.

 _Or it won't,_ Lucifer murmured matter-of-factly. Sam shook his head and stood, the sudden urge to be back with his brother overpowering. He made it back to the house in record time, telling himself his quick gait was due to the returning rain clouds and nothing else.

* * *

Dean was satisfied to know that Sam had learned his lesson about staying out for hours in the wilderness as the door rattled open and his brother walked in, looking better than when he had left. "You hungry?" Dean asked neutrally as he muted the TV, not pressing Sam for details he knew Sam probably wouldn't share.

Sam nodded and said something, but it sounded like gibberish to Dean. He gave Sam a confused look. "What?" Maybe he'd just been watching the Spanish soap opera for too long and his brain had stopped working in English…

Sam gave him an odd look and repeated himself, but the same odd sounding syllables reached Dean's ears. Concern pricked his skin and he rearranged himself to get a better look at Sam. "Uh, you're not making any sense… You feeling okay?"

Sam's face contracted into a semi-bitch face. Even though the long, drawn out sounds were unintelligible to Dean, he could tell by Sam's tone he was annoyed.

"You hit your head on a rock or something? You're not speaking English."

Sam's brow furrowed and Dean understood that Sam wasn't being a brat, he was confused. His contorted expression told Dean that he was puzzled that Dean didn't understand him. Dean sighed and reached into his pocket, searching for his phone. Bobby needed to get back before Dean lost his mind.

* * *

Sam watched Dean pull out his cell phone and hobble out of the cabin, apparently desiring to make his call private. Sam went to the door and pressed his ear against it. He could just make out Dean's tired voice.

"Heya, Bobby… Things are okay here… Well, uh, when are you gonna be back? I could really use a hand with Sam… Nothing extreme, but, um, he seems to be speaking in tongues?..."

 _What?!_ Sam thought, shocked. _I was speaking English earlier! What the hell, Dean?! Maybe you need to get_ your _head checked!_

"No, can't tell what language it is. He woke up from a bad nightmare and was fine, went for a walk, then was speaking gibberish when he came back… No, I didn't look for any injuries but there was nothing obvious… Tomorrow? Thank God. I, Bobby, I need a break. I need to sleep. Looking after him is like a full time job and I'm just so goddam tired… Yeah some more food would be great. And anything to keep Sam distracted… Thanks, Bobby. See you soon."

Sam stepped back from the door awash with shame. He was slowly killing his brother and seemed completely unable to do anything to stop it. He was almost certain Dean's exhaustion would turn into resentment, which would morph into anger and possible even hate. Sam didn't want to let it get that far. He wouldn't survive it.

Dean pushed the door open and trudged inside, his tired face painted with a fake smile. "Well, I hope you can understand me. Bobby will be stopping by tomorrow and hopefully we can get this sorted. In the meantime, I guess, uh, do you, and let me know if I can help it all."

Sam nodded and smiled back, this one born from authentic gratitude. For all Dean's flaws and shortcomings, his selflessness was often beyond measure and it continued to surprise even Sam. But his brother needed to rest. Sam pointed at Dean and then towards the bed.

Dean arched an eyebrow and considered it, before glancing back to the TV. "Nah, I wanna finish the soap opera marathon on right now. Gotta find out what happens, you know?" Dean smirked and returned to the couch, unmuting the show and settling in.

Sam turned away and moved toward the kitchen, the previous brief euphoria of his appreciation sobered by the knowledge that he was so damaged, Dean felt he couldn't leave Sam unwatched, even for a little bit. He set about making something for himself and Dean to eat, determined to cause the least amount of trouble possible.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent with only the sound of the TV and the occasional snore from Dean disrupting the silence. Sam made himself scarce, burying himself in a Latin book, translating and writing down anything he deemed useful. In the evening, Dean came over to the table to see what Sam was doing, seeming pleased Sam was able to work for so long without interruption. The approval fell from his face when he glanced at Sam's notes and saw the sheet covered in strange, frantic symbols. Pretending not to notice, Sam gestured towards the bed and looked firmly at Dean.

Dean sighed and his shoulders sagged in acquiescence. "Fine, but no walkabouts while I'll asleep." It was meant to be firm but there was no heat in his voice. He was just too tired.

Sam nodded his understanding and returned his attention to the disjointed Latin translation of an ancient Aramaic text describing a time before creation. The amount of concentration required worked well to keep Lucifer at bay, though he had a nagging feeling it had nothing to do with his efforts and everything to do with whatever Lucifer was planning.

The archangel merely sat on the counter with a wan smile decorating his face, his legs swinging slightly out of sync as he watched the Winchesters, pleased with his developing plan to tear the two brothers apart.

* * *

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* * *

Please send some fuzzy (or not so fuzzy) plot bunnies my way!


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